Maester Wolf
by ctc1000
Summary: What if Jon Snow wasn't the stupidest man in Westeros? A new beginning where Jon is still Lyanna's son, but Ned Stark hides him in a different way, which has a major impact on the Wars to come. A more cunning Snow changes the outcomes for his brothers and sisters. Eventually there will be some pairings but not for a while. The first section will be the War in the Riverlands.
1. Chapter 1

**A New Beginning**

He walked the Halls of Winterfell like a ghost on his twelfth name day. No servants turned to pat him on the cheek or rub his hair. Even had they known of his name day, fear of his good mother would have stopped that. Arya and Robb remembered but no one else. At breakfast, Robb gave him a small banner emblazoned with the sigil of a dire wolf, the teeth ready to pounce. Arya had woken him up with a full mug of icy water, dumped on his head. She then embraced him and asked if they could practice archery. He would have loved nothing more than to spend the day with his trueborn sister and brother, but they all had duties. Robb sat with Lord Stark to hear news delivered by merchants from White Harbor. Arya had lessons with Septa Mordane on needlework and embroidery, although she often hid instead. Jon was tasked with inspecting the towers to ensure that the watch turrets on the inner walls were clean of crows and two towers near the great main gate were well maintained but there were a dozen smaller ones, still useful in war, and he laboriously checked the granite and stonework of the inner walls.

The sun was nearly overhead when Jory Cassell took him to Lord Stark's solar. Jon had not eaten since breakfast and he bolted down two cod cakes, made from the wagon of fish sent by the Manderlys preserved in sheets of ice. Jon wiped his mouth quickly, knowing it would not do to meet his Lord Father or Lady Stark hungry or dirty.

Jon entered the solar and knew immediately there was trouble. Bastards learned more quickly than high borns about danger. Catelyn Stark taught him about disdain and slights and Jon wondered if her hand drove this. Lord Eddard Stark's face was stern as ever and Maester Luwin almost had a smile on his small grey face. Robb's blue eyes though stared down on the ground and his chin trembled. Jon looked straight at his father, the blank expression on his face easy to mistake for sullenness.

"Jon, today is your 12th name day. In four years, you will be a man grown. I have spoken to Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin. We have decided that you should learn a trade." Ned Stark said.

"Lord Stark, I hoped to serve at Robb's side - as his bannerman or even Captain of the Guards to House Stark, after Jory." Jon said.

"Father, Jon would be a great Captain. He is my match with the sword and my better at riding. I would be proud to have him serve House Stark." Robb pleaded. Robb honed his skills daily, and he was too honest to lie, although Jon thought his half brother better at the lance.

Lord Stark looked pained, and for a brief moment, Jon thought his father might change his mind. That hope faded when Lord Stark remained grim and unmoving. "Maester Luwin has written to the Citadel. You will go to Oldtown and study there until you can take your vows. When you finish your chain, I will petition the Conclave to return you to the North." Ned said.

"You are a bright lad. Perhaps not good at memorizing kings but you have a grasp of building and smithing. Those are links you can forge at the Citadel. You could bring that back to the North - roads, farms, watermills." Maester Luwin added eagerly.

Jon knew why he could not list the three hundred year reign of Targaryean kings on the Iron Throne. He was more interested in the knights - Aemon the Dragonknight and Ser Ryam Redwyne. He had admired King Daeron for his reckless courage, but only Robb aspired to the Young Dragon in their pretend play. "So I am to be banished from Winterfell and the North?" Jon asked.

"You will begin afresh down South. There is much to see and do in Oldtown." Ned said.

"At the Citadel, no one will care about your past. They will judge you on learning - and your mind, Jon, is as sharp as steel. I can teach you history, healing, herblore, and ravenry but the maesters at Oldtown can teach a thousand things more. You can learn how to build castles, and navigate by the stars. You can delve into the secrets of steel and study warcraft." Luwin said.

Jon preferred to study by tilts in the training yard than dusty books in the library. I am Robb's equal - I could lead men in war just as well. Those thoughts were of no use. He was a bastard and no bannerman would follow him in battle. If he was older, Jon could cross the Narrow Sea to enlist in a Free Company or go to the Wall for the Night's Watch but he was too young. Jon had no dreams of being a wandering sellsword in Essos but only a Stark in Winterfell, standing with his brothers and sisters. And like a Stark, he would do his duty, regardless of cost. "Yes, Father. I will study at the Citadel."

* * *

The caravan would need seven days to travel to White Harbour - two days hard riding by horse to the White Knife River, one day to load, and then four more to the port city. The merchants would leave the next day to avoid autumn storms on the Narrow Sea and then take a ship south to Gulltown and Duskendale before reaching Tyrosh. In that city of merchants, there would be no trouble finding ships travelling West to Oldtown, avoiding Sunspear and Dorne. Northmen were not welcome in Dorne after Robert's Rebellion.

Jon had only a day before the caravan left. Lord Stark dismissed him from his duties, but he finished surveying the crenelated bulwarks of the First Keep. Jory took the final parchment marked with rows for each tower with a look of sympathy. Jon hurried away past the curious gaze of servants and guards. He had no need for pity and no desire to encounter Catelyn Stark and witness her happiness at banishing the bastard. Jon sorted through the things he owned besides the clothes on his back. Quite little although he folded Robb's gift into his sea chest.

"Why do you have to leave?" Arya had snuck into his room, her dark gray eyes trying hard not to give in to tears. She threw her skinny arms around his neck.

"Father believes I need a trade." Jon said, rubbing her head.

"Trade - why can't you just fight? You are better than Robb in the yard!" Arya said, disentangling herself to look him in the face.

Jon smiled. "Robb was first to ten marks in our duel yesterday."

"But you beat him the three days before that." Arya said. "It is my mother's fault. She is driving you away."

"Hush. The blame does not belong to Lady Stark. I am a bastard." Despite the favor shown by many in the castle to Sansa for her behavior, Jon knew Arya to be perceptive, beyond her seven years. It was Arya, even more than Robb, who protested Jon's treatment. "Besides, perhaps I will make a name of myself as a maester. I will come back and deliver your babes." He joked.

Arya gave him a hard whap on the arm and a dirty look. "Ewwww. That will never happen. I am not like Sansa, cooing over Rickon." The youngest Stark child had been born this summer, to the great joy of all his siblings, Arya included.

"I have something for you." Jon told her, as he took out a package wrapped in rags from under his bed.

"A present?" Arya said.

"Yes, dear sister." Jon pulled off the rags and held it out to her. When he was eight, Mikken had made him a blunted blade so that he could practice outside the yard. He spent many evenings practicing thrusts and cuts when the Lord and Lady of Winterfell dined alone with their trueborn children. Jon sharpened the blade with a whetstone and used a knife, needle and thread to craft a small grey scabbard, layering the inside of the leather with fur. He had long outgrown the blade, but it had been his first sword and held fond memories.

Arya's eyes gleamed as she drew the well oiled blade out and balanced it in his hands. "It is so light and skinny."

Jon rolled his eyes. "I was eight then, and you are only seven now. You can practice in your room, as long as Father and Mother do not know. Be careful though. The edges are sharp." He mussed up her hair again. "One day, I promise to forge you a true sword."

Arya put down the present and hugged her favorite brother. This time she allowed her tears to flow freely. "You will come back one day? To Winterfell?"

"Oldtown is far away. My return will depend on the maesters and father. But I will remember the North. I will return to you one day. I swear it by the old Gods and the new."

* * *

That night, Jon ate at the low table while Lord Stark gave the place of honor to the merchants who told tales of the Manderlys and lavish banquets at the Merman's Court. Jon did not need capons, eels, and lampreys baked into pies. He was happy with a simple dish of roast chicken, the meat juices soaked up with hard bread. He ignored the smirk that Theon threw his way as the Iron Islander regaled Robb and the younger Starks with the tale of Balon Greyjoy chopping off both hands of the maester of Pyke. Jon left dinner early - he preferred the cool air than sitting in silence while others either mocked or pitied him.

Robb found him in the yard near the Broken Tower bashing a straw dummy with a training sword, sweat pouring from his face. "You should take out your anger on Theon in a match, and not a strawman."

"The dummy fights as well as Greyjoy." Jon retorted, bringing smiles to both lads. Rob handed Jon a half full skin. "Summer wine? Won't Father notice?" Jon said, despite taking a large swig.

"I spoke to Father. In 8 years, you can forge a chain. Luwin will retire and then you can be Maester at Winterfell." Robb said.

"Your Lady mother would never allow that. She worries that I am Daemon Blackfyre reborn. Although I doubt Blackfyre was ever banished to the library." Jon said regretfully.

"I would be twenty years of age. Married, and Father would listen to my words." Robb replied with a bit of heat. There were southron heirs who were 40 years of age and still treated like children by their lord fathers but in the North, boys grew to men quickly.

"I may have to deliver your babes, then." Jon said, smiling at the look of disgust on Robb's face. "Arya had the same reaction but she hit me."

The two boys chuckled at the antics of their wild little sister. "Will you be able to find new sparring partners at the Citadel? Many great knights have come from the Reach." Robb said.

Jon shook his head no. "Maesters cannot use weapons. Luwin says the Citadel trains knights of the mind. Some rush their studies to learn only ravenry, medicine, and the history of kings. But I will study smithing and warcraft - how to conduct siege warfare and the secrets of metals. I want to build roads and ships. If you go to battle, I will stand by your side, no matter where the Conclave sends me."

"You will always have a side by me, Snow. I would swear that under the weirwood tree. We are brothers, no matter what our names." Robb said. "Do you want one last tilt?"

"No, let's just pretend to be heroes from the past - like we did in old days." Jon said.

"I will be Cregan Stark. Will you be Aemon the Dragon Knight?" Robb asked.

"I will never be knight - but you will be Lord Stark. I want to be Brandon the Builder." Jon tapped the loose stones of the watchtower. "The Broken Tower was a hundred feet tall, and the outside walls are 80 feet high. No one can build castles like this today - like Dragonstone, or Storm's End. The keeps and walls of King's Landing are nothing compared to this."

"Bran the Builder created those castles with the help of giants, magic and Children of the Forest in the Age of Heroes." Robb said.

"Maybe we will live in a new Age, and you will be Cregan Stark reborn and the Hand of a Targaryen king." Jon said. The two boys laughed, and shared the wineskin, and for that night, played without care. The future could wait. Winter had not come yet for House Stark.

* * *

Jon Snow walked out the Seneschal's Court on his way to the Quill and Tankard in Oldtown. He had presented his discoveries on how to reduce the carbon content that made steel brittle to the gathering of archmaesters. Archmaester Nymos and Gallard argued for raising the temperature of the forge to purify steel. Jon disagreed vehemently. Perhaps in rich cities like King's Landing, knights could afford such an expensive approach for arms and armor but to use steel in the north and for buildings, a better way was needed. Jon demonstrated the use of blowing air, scrap and limestone to be integrated into a large kiln.

"How do you not have a steel link yet?" Owen Fossoway asked. "Archmaester Norren looked at like you like you were the Smith Reborn!"

Jon chuckled at the praise of the rosy cheeked acolyte. Like many in the Reach, Owen enjoyed exaggeration and was enthusiastic about using better steel to make the farms of Cider Hall and New Barrel more productive. "I plan to forge my links when I turn 16." Jon said.

"Aye, when he is a man grown, Maester Snow will exceed all of us and quite rapidly." Alleras said gaily, to the ready agreement of many of the acolytes. They walked the river road past stone bridges and cobbled streets to an island in the Honeywine. It had been a sweltering summer but at night, the city came alive with travelers from many countries and the strong smell from lush foliage as well as the many brothels that serviced the guild halls on the river banks.

The last three years had passed rapidly. Jon enjoyed Oldtown, built around the Hightower, the Starry Sept and the Citadel. He had walked the labyrinth of alleys and crooked streets, marvelling at the Thieves' Market and Ragpicker's Wynd, where anything could be bought even from far away Yi Ti. Travellers from all locales came to the richest city in Westeros to trade and study, and Jon relished meeting them all. Summer Islanders with feather cloaks, perfumed courtesans from Lys, Tyroshi sellswords, ragtag pirates fencing loot too rich for the Stepping Stones. Jon spent most hours of days and nights in the libraries of the Citadel, studying machines and metals. There were students from all parts of Westeros but the most common area of origin was the Reach. Many second and third sons came to forge a few links before returning to their families. Jon did not partake much of the carnal pleasures of the undercity but he had made many friends, Owen Fossoway, Alleras, Alayn Hightower, Gareth Goode. They were all a few years older, but respected his thirst to learn.

Maester Luwin had been right - no one cared that he was a Stark or a Snow. Jon threw himself into learning as he once had into swordplay. He attended every lecture, devoured books and worked long into the night. He combined theory and practical application, and in fields as varied as healing to metallurgy, distinguished himself through practical experiments. It was in a study of animal husbandry where he had met Owen and Gareth. He demonstrated to the entire class that planting clover next to oats and rye would attract bees, feed farm animals, and enrich the soil. When Owen successfully implemented the idea at Cider Hall, many stewards in the Reach had come to the Citadel to ask him for advice, and to the great surprise of acolytes and maesters, Jon had been happy to share without remuneration.

In contrast, Jon kept the advanced work on metallurgy and warfare private. That was his promise to Robb, and that had been the basis for the experiments on steel. He had presented some findings but there was more work to be done. He needed to test different ores from the Reach and the North. He needed to change the ratio of limestone to scrap. He had tried to use that steel in cocking stirrup of a crossbow and it could not withstand enough pressure. Perhaps, he needed to use charcoal. That might absorb the impurities better. Or perhaps some inpurity was needed. Steel that was too pure might turn brittle.

"Jon, we have lost you." His friend opened the door to the tavern and several acolytes inside cheered as Jon entered, stories of his presentation that afternoon already having spread. "What are you thinking about? The best way to melt and cut steel?" Alleras said with a soft Dornish drawl.

"Well, yes. I could use the metal in a moldboard plow, and it would distribute weight evenly." Jon lied. No one at the Citadel knew of his family at Winterfall or research into weapons.

Alleras ordered amber wine from the Summer Isles before fixing big soft black eyes on the Northerner. "The Fossoways have enough grain and apples. Why don't you celebrate with a whore? Don't say you are too poor. Owen owes you many gold dragons for that last harvest."

Perwyn Merryweather intervened, handing the blushing Jon a large mug of smoky cider. "Oh lighten up, Sphinx. When the lad wishes, all the maids will rush to claim his virtue. He is a pretty one - our Maester Snow. And we all know, Fossoways always want more apples. He brags the cider at his Hall is the best in the Reach."

"And it is!" Owen roared happily. "Jon, you are always welcome at Cider Hall. Unlike these ignorant fools who can't tell cider from pisswater."

Several of the students from the Reach took to chasing the maids and other working girls of the Quill. Alleras shrugged and brought out an ivory cyvasse set. Jon nodded and they began to set up the alabaster and onyx pieces on the board. Alleras swore on the Seven that he was not a nobleman's son. Jon was certain that no child of a simple trader could afford such a valuable luxury. He knew too that cyvasse was more popular in Dorne than the Summer Isles.

They played five games that night, and Jon won the first four. Alleras had the same strategic flaw as most - moving the dragon into play too early to strike against the heavy pieces. Jon exposed his elephants early in the game, and the enemy dragon flew around the board, allowing Jon time to develop his cavalry and artillery. Twice, he had slain Alleras's dragon with a trebuchet and once with the catapult supported by heavy horse. Jon enjoyed cyvasse - developing his pieces with tempo by counter attacking. His style was defensive, searching for weaknesses, until Alleras would overextend and lose the dragon. In the final game, the Sphinx flung all the pieces forward into a suicidal attack, penetrating Jon's defenses.

"That would not work in a real battle." Jon said, ruefully.

"Your king is still dead." Alleras replied, drinking the last drop of sweet wine and ignoring the glances of the admiring serving wenches.

Jon and Alleras walked back to the Citadel, the Sphinx leaning heavily on him. Jon could smell sandelwood and goldenheart on the youth's green studded brigandine jacket as Alleras rested long light brown fingers on his shoulder.

"I know the Riddle of the Sphinx." Jon said.

"And how does a Northerner know that?" Alleras said.

"You claim not to be a nobleman's son." Jon said softly. "That is very true. You are a nobleman's daughter."

Alleras turned rapidly, her fingers now resting on a knife in the pouch of her doeskin breeches. She had a soft smile but her eyes had turned cold. "How did you know?"

"Maester Qyburn's lecture on anatomy. The lump on your larynx is quite small - almost not visible. You are quite slim but you are never seen without a jacket. Your fingers are soft and uncalloused - you never worked as a trader or trained with the sword. Your father took you to Dorne when you were young, and in Dorne, men and women are considered equals." Jon said.

"The Citadel does not allow women to study." Alleras spat. "What will you do now?" She relaxed her right hand, although the fingers were hidden in the pouch.

"Nothing. You are my friend, and I see no reason a woman cannot study as well or better than a man." Jon sat down next to a fountain. "My younger sister would rather be a warrior than be a lady. You have earned your links, more than many lordlings here."

"I intend to finish 7 links, and surpass my father. And then I will return back to Sunspear to my sisters. They would like you." The black eyes gazed deeply into his. "Why not come with me? Run away to Dorne. Who wants to be a maester in a freezing castle in the North?" she asked.

"I swore to return to my family - my trueborn sisters and brothers." Jon said softly.

"A pity you are not older." Alleras said.

Jon cocked his eyebrows. "What does my age have to do with anything?"

Alleras laughed, the giggle clearly feminine. "You know nothing, Jon Snow." She took his hand in hers and they walked back to the Citadel.

* * *

As his sixteenth name day approached, Jon immersed himself into his studies. He was more than capable in ravenry, history, math and astronomy. He truly excelled in warcraft, engineering, steel and construction. Even without displaying the full extent of his knowledge, the acolytes at the Citadel considered him a true prodigy. Owen Fossoway was not the only man of the Reach who had written to his family, imploring them to find a position for the Northerner. But another field had consumed Jon in the past few months - Valyrian Magic.

In his last day at Winterfell, Jon asked Luwin about the fields of study at the Citadel. The Maester had been happy to show his chain and links - silver for medicine, copper for history, bronze for astronomy, black iron for ravenry. Yet Luwin spoke little about the link of Valyrian steel or the higher mysteries. It struck Jon as exceedingly odd - the Citadel considered Maester Luwin an expert on magic and yet the old man did not believe in its existence. Luwin claimed that trusting in magic was like dueling with a glass sword, but Jon knew different. Glass could cut in ways that even steel did not.

The books on ancient Valyria spoke of dragonglass candles and Jon knew these were the three black candles in the Vault of Scribes. For an acolyte to become a Maester, they had to stand vigil in the dark vault with only the three unlit candles. In the memory of the Citadel, no one had ever succeeded in lighting a candle, showing that even with great knowledge, some things remained impossible. But that was not the right interpretation, Jon thought. Not having done something does not prove it cannot be done.

The lords of Valyria could set the dragonglass candles burning with their will alone. With a candle, they could see across vast distances, look into a man's mind, and speak with one another though they were half the world apart, The wizards had used fire and magic - not a forge or a quarry, to forge roads and walls of dragonstone and built tall topless towers where dragons would nest. The Citadel claimed blood magic was long lost, and that the few glass candles remaining did not burn. Valyria had been struck down for the use of blood magic and dark arts, and their dragons were no more.

Jon dreamed often of the Doom of Valyria, of the sky filled with ash, smoke and fire burning so hot that the heat could kill even a dragon. The Fourteen Flames erupted, spewing molten rock that melted lakes while red clouds rained down dragonglass. In the cataclysm, so much was lost - the Valyrian freehold with mighty dragonlords and millions of brutalized slaves but also much more. The secrets of Valyrian steel, the magic to bind dragons, even the ancient records of the past - all was lost in the Doom. The proudest city in the world was gone in minutes and the greatest empire extinguished in a day as the Free Cities and the remnants of the Old Empire of Ghis rose up to kill the dragon lords in their weakness. So much knowledge was gone in a matter of days - buried under fire and ash. Jon woke up sometimes, panicky with fear, wondering why he lived through the destruction so many nights.

"And this is why the book, **Signs and Portents**, is the most important treasure lost since the Targaryen Conquest." Archmaester Marwyn concluded. "Class dismissed."

Jon nodded. In that book, Daenys Targaryen, known better as Daenys the Dreamer, wrote down her visions of the Doom a dozen years before it struck. Aenar the Exile had listened to his maiden daughter, and the Targaryen Conquest followed a hundred years later. He waited to leave the classroom until Alleras finished sketching the green obsidian candle that the Archmaester included in the lecture.

"What a bunch of twaddle." A handsome cruel mouthed student wearing the Highgarden colors of green and gold proclaimed.

"No one asked you, Leo Tyrell." Alleras said, as she placed the sketch in her doeskin sack.

"The Targaryens lost the Iron throne, Blackfyre and their dragons but their most valuable possession was a book. I hope Marwyn becomes a maester to my enemies." Tyrell japed.

"The Dreamer was reputed to be strong in magic. She had prophetic dreams and her writings might contain secrets of how to make dragonglass or birthing dragons - or even a hint on the forging of Valyrian steel or the dragonstone that can be used in castles and roads. That would be worth far more than a sword or an uncomfortable throne." Jon said.

"What do you know, bastard?" Leo snapped. "And who needs a candle to speak to other castles? We have ravens today, and good steel in the reach."

"A raven can take many days to travel. To speak from one castle to another immediately would change the world. And if you do not know how important forging Valyrian steel would be in battle, there is little need to discuss this further." Jon said, walking off with Alleras.

"That fool shames the Citadel with every word out of his mouth." Alleras said.

"Not all acolytes are as small minded and Owen tells me that not all Tyrells are like that." Jon said. "Shall we go to the Library?"

* * *

Before he could do so, another acolyte rushed into the hall. Alayn Hightower wore the flaming tower of his house sigil but the fourth son was friendly and modest. "Jon, an urgent raven." He handed him parchment sealed with the Stark dire wolf.

Jon's eyes narrowed. The stream of letters from Arya, Robb and his Lord Father had never been sealed with the dire wolf sigil. Only the most important correspondence would be, and only the Stark in Winterfell had the authority to use that seal. Jon opened the letter, and read it quickly - his face darkening.

"What is it, Jon?" Alleras asked.

"It is my younger brother, Bran. He has been hurt badly in a fall." Jon said. The letter was from Robb, and although terse, Jon could easily detect the Heir of Winterfell's worry. Bran had fallen from a tower but Robb was unsure how it had happened - and Lord Stark was not at Winterfell. Something was clearly wrong - for if Robb did not know, neither did his parents and family. "My friends, I must say goodbye for now. I will remember my years here fondly."

"Where are you going?" Alleras said.

"Winterfell." Jon said.


	2. Return to the Wolfpack

**Return to the Wolfpack**

"Land Ho." The captain of the _Arbor Lady_ cried as the stone washed buildings of White Harbour came into view. Jon took his eyes off the massive stone that split the port - Seal Rock, a fortress abandoned by the First Men centuries ago, long before Aegon's Conquest. He approved of the ring of scorpions and spitfires massed on the gray green rock although he could see few men on the Rock through his spyglass. To reach Seal Rock, soldiers had to sail from the Wolf's Den, a crumbling castle that guarded the mouth of the White Knife. Even in the Greyjoy Rebellion, no kraken had ever threatened White Harbour, preferring to strike at weaker villages in the West.

His friends at the Citadel had been more than kind. On hearing of his plans, Owen, Garth and Alayn looked around for the fastest boat that could make it North. Gunthor Hightower, a knight with Alayn as cousin and Owen as good brother, asked Redwyne friends for the fastest merchantman leaving East or North. With a letter of passage from Lord Leyton Hightower, the Arbor Lady turned north at Dorne, and dropped Jon off before an extended trading trip to Braavos and the Free Cities. The Reachmen had given him gifts of wine, a harp of goldenwood, and seeds of apples, peaches, grapes and more exotic fruit to plant in the North. Alleras presented him with a illuminated book on **The Southern Kingdom** with detailed accounts of several invasions, the history of Dorne's prickly dealings with the Iron Throne. Jon embraced his friends before leaving, guilty that he had given items of far less value.

His most precious belongings were buried in the chest under two sets of clothes and the farewell presents. Jon had seven journals, hundreds of pages of notes, observations and drawings. He had invented many different machines, some practical - some entirely insane. He had created odd musical instruments, mechanical puppets, pumps to move water, hot air balloons, cranks and winches, even a way to divert rivers for irrigation, defense, and barricades. His mind was full of ideas but at sixteen years of age, he had not the time to see to the testing and completion of his designs. That might well change in the North, as he made certain the gears, springs and other cast metal parts were safely hidden in the folds of his clothes.

As he stepped on the slick quay, Jon was greeted by eight men wearing thick blue green cloaks and wielding silver tridents. They came closer and he could see the Manderly crest - a white merman with dark green hair carrying a black trident in a blue green sea. Two men lowered their weapons and strode forward to greet him.

"Jon Snow?" The speaker was the fatter of the two but both were quite large, bald, and had absurd thick mustaches. He wondered how much ice collected on their faces in winter, and then remembered that the water of the Narrow Sea lessened the chill.

"Aye. You must be House Manderly. I have seen Lord Wyman Manderly at Winterfell, but I do not recall your names." Jon said, still holding his heavy chest in both arms.

"Wylis Manderly. This is my brother, Wendel Manderly. Robb Stark asked us to give you hospitality. You could dine with my father and our family in the Merman Court." The big man did not offer to shake hands.

"Do you have any news of my brother, Brandon?" Jon asked.

At that, the round moon faces of the two brothers softened. The second man, less fat but with a louder voice, said. "No, but we saw Lady Stark a few days ago." The sharp look from Wylis quieted the younger man.

Lady Stark would not leave her injured child unless something important arose. Jon considered pressing for more details but decided that would take a bit of cunning and too much time. "Thank you for your kind offer. I sailed immediately when I heard about the fall and I would see my brother Bran as soon as possible. All I need are provisions, and a swift horse to get to Winterfell." ."

The look of relief on the older brother's face was clear. The Manderlys had not wanted to dine with the Bastard of Winterfell. Then again, Jon had little desire for lampreys, pork pies and the rich victuals that the the large bellies of the Manderlys clearly enjoyed.

"My uncle, Marlon, has horses at New Castle. He would be delighted to offer one to you." Wylis said. New Castle was the seat of House Manderly and Marlon commanded the garrison. Jon nodded. The Manderlys would be happy to see him gone from White Harbour. He would be happy to leave, and return to Robb and Bran.

* * *

Seven days. Jon had ridden hard and fast, and the tough little garron had done its best to get him there in good time. It could not gallop like a war horse but the sturdy beast was built for the North, scrawny legs always churning forward and cutting fearlessly through the chilly winds. Jon had ridden up the White Knife and then crossed west to Winterfell. He was travelling back to the castle on the same road he took to leave.

It had been almost four years since he had departed his home for Oldtown. No, it was never his home. Catelyn Stark had seen to that, driving him away from his true born siblings. Gods - in that time, Robb would have become a much better swordsman. He was sure to lose a spar. Jon had lost any desire to become a knight. Those dreams of glory were long gone, replaced by journals and experiments. Jon had been happy in his studies and books. He did not know if he would finish his studies as a Maester but he had become a man of science, not of swords.

And he had many good friends in the South. Besides feasts dominated by boasting, drinking and brawling, the Northmen were a grim and dour lot. The North claimed their people were more honorable than the paper knights of the South but that wasn't true. Good and bad existed in both places - and cruel prats like Leo Tyrell could also be found in Winterfell. He would take Owen Fossoway over Theon Greyjoy any day. He loved his true born brothers and sisters, but he had made friends with a new pack - Owen, Alayn, Garth, Roone, Harlyn, third and fourth sons who could care less that he was a bastard. And he missed Alleras. She was funny and smart, as mysterious as the sphinx, and gifted with sparkling wit and endless curiosity. Even he, a green boy at love, knew what a visit to Dorne would mean.

Jon felt his mount tremble even before he heard the howl. The garron skittered to a stop, sniffing from side to side, legs ready to bolt. Then Jon saw the beast. It was larger than any wolf he had seen before - with smoke grey fur and yellow eyes, and nearly as tall as his waist. Jon knew that even well rested, the small horse had no hope of escaping a hungry dire wolf. He put his right hand on a short dagger while his left hand calmed the shuddering garron. Jon sensed a presence to his right flank and turned.

Staring at him with dark red eyes was an albino wolf with thick white hair and a bushy tail. It was smaller and leaner and nearly invisible in the snowy forest. The grey wolf growled but the white wolf remained silent. Jon slipped off the horse and opened the chest, lifting up a hand crossbow that he had crafted. The crossbow could be pulled back by winding a steel crank. The range was short - perhaps 30 yards - but the bolt could a punch a hole through plate armor with ease. The white wolf padded over, so close that Jon could hear its breath. Then the beast tugged at his left hand gently, as if it was playing a game. Jon dropped the crossbow on the ground, realizing that these were the dire wolf pups Arya described with such excitement in her last letter. He crouched to wrap both arms around the albino as the grey wolf also approached. "I will call you Ghost." Jon said to the happy snickers of both wolves.

* * *

Jon arrived at the castle soon after, dismounting after he passed through the gates. Winterfell seemed smaller now but he had been twelve when he left, and returned almost a man grown. The grey wolf immediately went to a strong young man with thick red brown hair, a sword buckled to his belt, and mail and plate over dark leather. The two brothers embraced.

"Gods, it is good to see you Jon. Everything has gone to shit." Robb said.

"Let me see Bran."

Jon hugged his younger brother, feeling the sweat on his brow, in a room crowded with Maester Luwin, a tall hard faced woman with shaggy brown hair, Theon Greyjoy, Robb and Rickon. Two armed guards wearing Stark colors patrolled the hall. Jon went to work, listening to the chest, measuring the pulse, and feeling the bones of his back. Jon put his fingers on several pressure points in the legs, asking Bran how much he felt. The boy answered bravely, but there was little hope in the once happy face.

"I will never be able to walk again, Jon - or use a sword, or shoot a bow." Bran sobbed.

Jon finished his inspection and turned to the boy and spoke gently. "You may not gain control of your legs but we can strengthen them."

"You can ride, Bran. Just two days past, you rode on the saddle that Tyrion Lannister designed." Robb said.

"Yes, and I was nearly killed by wildlings. I was useless." Bran said.

"You don't have to be. Robb, could someone bring me my chest?" Jon said. The tall lean woman rushed out to comply, and in less than a minute, was back with a wooden sea chest with bands of black iron. Jon gave the crossbow to Bran. "I built this at the Citadel. Wind the crank and place the bolt in."

"That toy can't shoot very far." Theon snorted.

"Aye, it is not a longbow but the bolt will go through a man's eye or a steel shield. And Bran is not going to be an archer. He can use this to defend himself or Winterfell." Jon said.

"Can I borrow this, Jon?" Bran asked.

"It is yours Bran. I can build another one - or I can make you one that fits your hands. Whatever you want, little brother. Now, rest. You have a slight fever." Jon said.

"He fell in the snow, when we met the wildlings." Robb said with an angry look for Theon.

Jon and Robb left the room, leaving Maester Luwin and the fierce wildling woman. The two brothers ignored Theon, and went to their father's solar. Robb sat down in the chair that Jon had so often seen Lord Stark receive bannermen. At that moment, Robb looked nothing like Ned Stark. He had the Tully looks, a stocky build, brown hair and blue eyes. Worse, he seemed unsure - like a green boy. Jon took a seat opposite his brother. "Tell me everything."

* * *

"Let me understand. Tyrion Lannister came here after an assassin tried to kill Bran with a Valyrian dagger. He gave a design for a saddle that our brother could use despite your refusal of salt and bread. And yet, you suspect him of guilt in the attack on Bran? Why?" Jon asked.

"It must be a Lannister. Mother found a blond strand of hair in the tower where Bran fell. Bran must have seen something and been pushed." Robb said.

"But Tyrion isn't the only Lannister. There are many - the Queen, Jaime Lannister, all the royal children. Why couldn't it be someone else?" Jon asked.

"That's why they are going to King's Landing - to find who the dagger belongs to." Robb said.

Jon rubbed his knuckles on his right temple. "You are missing something. The dagger was Valyrian steel with a dragon bone hilt. And yet, you also said the killer was a filthy old man that smelled of horses and looked half starved." Robb nodded his head. "Why would any of the Lannisters use such a person to kill Bran?"

"I don't see what you mean." Robb said slowly.

"If the Queen wished to kill Bran, who would she use?" Jon paused for a few seconds. "She has many knights and guardsman. She wouldn't rely on anyone she did not trust. Jaime Lannister is a knight, and one of the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Would he ask a non Lannister to do his killing? And Tyrion Lannister is supposed to be the smartest of the bunch. He would not give a valuable dagger to kill a sleeping boy. Any thug would have killed Bran - strangled him with a pillow or hit him with a club. You don't need Valyrian steel to kill a boy with ten name days."

They sat in silence as Robb digested Jon's words. "How much gold was found on the man?" Jon asked.

"Ninety silver stags." Robb said.

"That makes little sense." Jon said. "The Lannisters are the richest House in Westeros. If something was that important, why pay so little? The dagger must be worth many gold dragons. Who would give good Valyrian steel but pay less than a gold dragon for the deed? Robb - when did the assassin come?"

"A dozen days after the king left." Robb said.

Jon thought for a moment, and then beckoned his brother to a map of Westeros. "In four days, the King's party would reach The Neck. What if there, someone found a bandit and gave them the dagger and the stags? That man would take a week to reach Winterfell."

"But who… why…." Robb thought. "That bastard!" He yelled and then flushed before continuing his thoughts. "Sorry, Jon. If someone found an assassin five days later, then it wouldn't be the Queen, the Kingslayer or the Imp. They would have planned better."

"So who do you think it is?" Jon asked. He did not know the full details of the royal visit.

"Joffrey. The Crown Prince is a cunt. He would have an expensive dagger and he didn't even bother to visit Bran after the fall." Robb spat.

Jon struggled to recall what he knew of the Crown Prince. Robb had told him that Joffrey looked like a girl, with his long curly hair. "Isn't Joffrey only twelve years of age?" Jon asked.

"You didn't meet the cunt. On the road to King's Landing, Joffrey got into a fight with Arya. The king killed Sansa's dire wolf, Lady." Robb said. "Father needs to be warned."

Jon put his hand on Robb's elbow to stop him from leaving. "Robb, you can't just send a raven. He is at King's Landing. Others might be watching him, or reading his messages. If they know you accuse the Crown Prince of attempted murder, he may be arrested for treason."

"We can't let Joffrey get away with this. He tried to have Bran killed." Robb argued.

"I believe you, Robb but look at the facts. We have no proof. The assassin is dead. Your mother has the dagger, but even it was certain that it belonged to Joffrey, he merely has to claim he lost it in the North. It is too bad that Lady Stark was not here when I came. Then she could carry our message to Father. I wish I didn't miss Tyrion Lannister as well." Jon said.

"Why would the Imp help? He is a Lannister." Robb wondered.

"He helped Bran. I doubt he would approve of his nephew's plot. If we could get him on our side, that may be to our benefit. He is said to be quite clever." Jon said.

"We must do something." Robb said.

"The last Stark who accused the Crown of crimes did not fare well at King's Landing." Jon replied. The Stark children all knew the story of Uncle Brandon and Grandfather Rickard, murdered by the Mad King. "Father and our sister may be in danger, and we must be careful. We cannot tell Father directly, but a raven from a bastard brother to a beloved sister may be overlooked. I will write a message to Arya and hope she understands."

"Thank you. I am glad that you are back." Robb said, the lines of worry softening at the presence of his closest friend.

"I vowed to be by your side if you ever had need." Jon said. "I would keep that promise, no matter the cost."

* * *

Arya burst into the solar of the Tower of the Hand past several Stark guards. Her father was pouring over letters from the Iron Bank on the borrowings of the Crown. He grimaced more from the thick reams of parchment than any war injury.

'"Father! I have a message from Jon." Arya shouted.

"Jon? But why is he writing?" Ned said as Jory and Heward walked in the room.

"Apologies, Lord Stark. We told the little wolf that you were busy." Jory began.

Ned sighed and then smiled, knowing how difficult it was to tell Arya anything. The wolf blood of his brother and sister flowed strongly in her veins. "That's no problem, Jory. I need a break from these papers anyway. Make sure there are no spies or listeners in the hall. I would speak to my younger daughter." He waited until both guards left before turning his quizzical eye on Arya. She handed over the letter.

"Jon is at Winterfell?" Ned said with surprise and a touch of guilt. In all the turmoil of the past month, he had not found time to write the boy.

"Look at his words carefully, Father." Arya said. She pointed at the lines near the end.

_**Beware of ladykillers in the Capitol. He has already attacked a younger wolf.**_

For some, that read as a jest to a maiden about her innocence. But Ned felt shame for killing Sansa's wolf. "I do not understand."

"Father, the lady killer is Joffrey. He is the reason Lady died. Jon wrote the letter to me. The younger wolf is Bran. Jon and Robb must believe that Joffrey hired a killer for Bran." Arya said.

"But how would Jon know?" Ned asked. He read through the letter. To a spy, the words mostly spoke of Jon's efforts to help Robb with Rickon and Bran. Jon was delighted to see again the four year old Stark who dearly missed his mother. Rickon had been a tiny babe when Jon left for Oldtown. Ned was dismayed that Catelyn had abandoned their youngest to come to King's Landing but his wife felt compelled to investigate the dagger. "I do not see how Jon could know. He has never met Joffrey and he was not there at Bran's attack."

"Father, Jon is clever. He has always read more than anyone else. You must believe him. You must do something."

"I know the quality of Jon's mind and heart. But I cannot accuse the Prince based on this. And your brothers Robb and Jon know this. That is why they send a message to you, in these lines." Ned said. In his mind, he wondered what other things the two eldest Stark boys could not say. He had no one he could trust to go back to Winterfell and speak with Jon, and the trip there and back was too long. Even he knew enough of the Game of Thrones to know that he could not send a raven speaking clearly about these thoughts.

Ned gave the letter back to Arya. He needed time to ponder how Jon had divined Joffrey's involvement. He was still thinking of that question when he received the raven that Tyrion Lannister had been captured by his Lady wife.

* * *

At Winterfell, Robb received the raven with dismay. Lady Stark had sent word from the Eyrie, proclaiming her fortunate capture of Tyrion Lannister. Robb was more certain than ever that Jon had been right and the circumstances of the dagger and assassin pointed the guilt to a different party. The last week had been the best since Bran's accident. Rickon had enjoyed the affections of his half brother. The four dire wolves formed a tight pack, keeping a careful eye on Shaggy Dog's wildness and hunting together in the woods. Both Bran and Rickon had marveled over the gadgets Jon had brought back from the Citadel - a foe glass from Myr, carvings of dragons and sphinx, puppets on strings, and a mechanical bird that could sing. Robb had been more enthused by the Arbor Gold, strong wine with a dark purple color, heady and rich on the tongue. They had watered it down, but Jon had shown Robb the custom in Highgarden, to mix their wine with sugar and cinnamon spice, heated to the taste of kings and queens. When these troubles were over, he hoped for a day where he and his brother could drink without care.

He stepped down to the courtyard to see Bran in a wooden chair, rolling along with his hands. Robb was diverted by the clapping of Rickon and Jon, and the proud look on Maester Luwin's face as Bran moved about the yard on his own.

Bran stopped in front of Robb, a big smile on his pale face. "What in the name of the Gods is that?" Robb asked. "Is that safe?"

"It is a wheelchair. These levers roll the chair forward. These two rods act as brakes to slow the chair down. And he has a belt, so that he will not fall." Jon said.

"I can move by myself now. I don't need Hodor to carry me." Bran said.

"You should still have Osha and Hodor watch but that is excellent." Robb said.

"I will build a ramp from your room to the courtyard, Bran." Jon said.

Robb's face turned serious even as he ruffled Bran's hair and his half brother noticed immediately. They walked away, still smiling, to not ruin the moment for their younger brothers.

* * *

Robb handed Jon the letter in Lord Stark's solar. His brother read it and sighed. Jon had no wish to point out Lady Stark's foolishness to her eldest son. He already knew. Their discovery and raven had changed nothing.

"The Lannisters will retaliate. The Old Lion will never allow his blood to be captured." Robb said.

"Our sisters will be in danger. Father too." Jon said somberly.

"Robert Baratheon is his best friend. Surely the King will protect his Hand." Robb said.

"Your impressions of the King may be the correct one. You told me he was only interested in drinking, eating and whoring. He is not much of a King, and the Lannisters have men all around him. I have heard in Oldtown that Grand Maester Pycelle owns his appointment to Tywin when he was Hand. The Lannisters pay their debts and they will see Lady Stark's treatment of Tyrion as a huge insult." Jon said.

"What can we do Jon?" Robb pleaded.

"Send him a raven begging him to take care and watch for our sisters. But King's Landing is far away and there must be a Stark in Winterfell." Jon said. "I have something to show you." He took out journals hidden in his vest.

Robb scanned through the papers with shock. He did not understand many of the scribbles and numbers but he could see the drawings. Like any lord trained in war, Robb knew of siege machines: battering rams to knock down gates, ladders to climb over walls, crude towers to protect infantrymen and allow archers to protect attackers from above. This was far more advanced.

There were many different types of catapults - mangonels, onagers, scorpions, There were crossbows of different sizes, some truly enormous, mounted on wagons. There were trebuchets that could hurl enormous rocks like a giant sling. There was even one that appeared to operate without human power, using a complex set of winches and treadwheels to launch projectiles. Jon had drawn a set of plans for multiple trenches to house waves of attackers in an assault on castle walls with redoubts at the end of each line, and siege artillery positioned to concentrate fire. Robb had never seen anything like this.

"How does this work?" Robb asked, pointing a the schematics of a trebuchet.

"The principal of torsion has been used on catapults for centuries. This counterweight trebuchet maximizes that - it has a slower rate of fire but with enough rocks, can keep bombarding a wall. Besides Dragonstone or the Wall, few keeps or castles will be able to resist. I promised you that I would be at your side in warfare." Jon said. He stood up and paced about the room. "I will need assistance - Mikken, Luwin and others. I will need workers to bring me wood, and the use of the forge. But I will start building this weaponry, or at the very least parts of it, so we can assemble the machines when we attack."

"Do you think it will come to war?" Robb asked.

"I hope not. I hope Father, the King, and the Lannisters will realize the consequences of violence. Anyone who asks reasonable questions should release Tyrion. But when has common sense ever prevailed on the Iron Throne? There may be blood, brother. We need to make sure the blood flows from our enemies and not us." Jon said.

"I won't call our bannerman yet, but I will alert close allies. Mikken will sharpen weapons and repair armor. Our guards will have to drill and prepare. I will tell the Lords to stock supplies for the winter, and have White Harbour purchase as much grain as possible." Robb said.

"The best offense is a good defense. I would make certain our borders are protected, and that Winterfell never falls." Jon said. These were lessons he had taken from cyvasse.

"Winterfell has not been threatened since Torrhen Stark bent the knee to dragons. But yes, if we go South, only Bran and Rickon will be here - until Mother and our sisters return. You need to sharpen your fighting skills. Four years of books and no spars have weakened your sword arm." Rob said

"And you need to look at history, and the campaigns of Robert's Rebellion and the Blackfyres. There is much you can study and prepare. Battles will be fought in the rivers, castles and towns of the Riverlands - like so many wars before. I will show you the best use of these siege engines and machines." Jon said. "I hope to all the Gods that we do not but if we must."

"We will fight together." Robb said, clasping Jon's hand in his own. "I vow that as a Stark."

"Winter is coming." the two brothers said.


	3. Bannermen

**Bannermen**

Robb Stark sat tall and proud in his father's chair, dressed in furs and leathers, with a fine white velvet surcoat with a dire wolf badge over his heart. Lord Stark had worn the coat when he called the banners to put down the Greyjoy Rebellion, and Jon thought it entirely fitting that his brother did the same to receive the bannermen. A serious Lady Catelyn sat on his left, careful not to be seen offering too much advice or guidance to Robb. Bran Stark was given a place of honor at Robb's right hand in the wheelchair that Jon crafted. Many lords gave Bran a hard stare, wondering what right a cripple should be placed above them. Grey Wind sat at Robb's feet, larger than any hound with cold yellow eyes and bared teeth. Jon Snow was on the sideline, his seat giving him ample opportunity to examine the bannermen as they passed and an easy vantage point to see their faces while they sat. He scratched notes on a piece of parchment, next to the hand drawn diagram of where the various houses chose to sit. The greater houses in the North - the Boltons, the Karstarks, the Manderlys and the Umbers - sat at tables closest to Robb, but Jon had wanted to see where how the Lords chose to array themselves and glean any intelligence from that positioning.

When she returned from the Riverlands via White Harbour, Catelyn Stark's reaction to Jon was colder than ever, with pointed comments on how the bastard had run from his responsibilities at the Citadel. Jon refrained from retorting that his duty to Lord Stark and Robb trumped any promises to the Conclave and made no comments on her folly in capturing and then losing Tyrion Lannister. Determining guilt or innocence based on a tests of arms was sheer lunacy. Was Jaime Lannister or Barristan the Bold the most virtuous man in the Seven Kingdoms?

She had avoided Jon for the next two week, and not spoken to him at meals. Her trueborn sons though loved their half brother dearly and even Catelyn approved grudgingly of his work for Bran. Jon built a hand crossbow, a bell pull over Bran's bed, and ramps and grooves throughout Winterfell for the wheelchair to get to the courtyard and Great Hall. Then Robb had wanted Jon to sit by his side when receiving the Medger Cerwyn and all of Catelyn's fears and suspicions returned. She snapped that Lord Stark would never have let the bastard sit at the high table.

In another life, her cold disdain would have bothered him more. But Jon had grown up in the four years at the Citadel and Oldtown. He was confident of his talents and abilities and knew his true place in life - staying by his brother's side. He motioned to Robb that this battle was not worth fighting and let the Starks know that he would sit next to Rickon with Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick Cassel. It was a better seat than he received years past.

"What are you writing, Jon?" Rickon asked.

"Just some notes on our allies. Do you know all the houses in the North?" Jon said.

"Of course I do." Rickon puffed up with pride and the other Stark retainers smiled with encouragement. "The white and green mermaid is House Manderly. The flayed man is House Bolton. The roaring giant with broken chains is House Umber. The black bear is House Mormont."

Jon chuckled and rubbed his youngest brother's hair. "Excellent. Now tell me. Which sigils are missing?"

The young boy stood on his chair to survey the hall. "There are a lot of banners here. I am not sure, Jon."

"The black lizard lion of House Reed is missing. The crannogmen don't like to leave Greywater Watch and they plan to meet us at the Neck. And a few of the mountain clans. Mostly because it is difficult to travel from there, but they will join us. The three brown pine cones of House Liddle and the six green thistles of House Norrey have yet to arrive."

"But most of the North have answered the call." Rickon said.

"Aye, the bannermen are loyal to the Starks of Winterfell." Rodrick Cassell said.

Jon Snow's smile did not reach his eyes. He was not quite certain that was true.

* * *

After the feast, Jon and Robb retired to their father's solar with a flask of summer wine and a pitcher of cold water. Grey Wind and Ghost stood guard in the hallway, and their brother wolves watched over the bedrooms of the younger Stark boys.

"You handled yourself well, Robb." Jon said while he poured two cups of water.

"It is more Grey Wind than me. He ate two of Greatjon Umber's fingers, and only then did the man back down." Robb said.

"He was testing you. The Lords all will." Jon replied.

"I am sorry about your seat. I wanted you next to me, by my right hand." Robb.

"Don't be. I preferred to watch from the side, to see the men. Here." Jon handed Robb the piece of parchment with names and markings.

"What is this?" Robb asked.

"A list of the houses, and how many footman and horses they bought, You should track their numbers to see how they truly answered the call and how well they fight in the battles to come." Jon said.

"Do you believe they are holding back men? Or will not take my orders in battle. I know the Umbers and the Karstarks claim that I am just a green boy marching off to war." Robb said.

"I have no reason to suspect but you should watch them carefully. And not just the loud ones. The quiet traitors are more dangerous. Karstark and Umber may grumble and yell, but there are others who are silent. House Dustin is famous for their horses and yet they sent no cavalry and few men - and most of those too young or too old." Jon said.

"Lady Barbrey Dustin still blames Father for her husband's death in Robert's Rebellion."

"I saw her speak for a long time to Roose Bolton. He is not boastful like Galbert Glover or prickly as Rickard Karstark. But when he looked at Bran, his eyes were cold - like our brother was an animal to be weighed and slaughtered." Jon said.

Robb shuddered. The relations between the Boltons and the Starks had never been good, and in the Age of Heroes, a Lord Bolton had worn as a cloak the flayed skin of an unfortunate Stark. "Aye. He is not one to cross. But the Boltons have bought many men and horses. He fought at Father's side twice - against the Targaryens and at Pyke against the Greyjoys."

"But you are not Father, Robb. These men may owe their lives to Ned Stark, but not to Robb Stark. Father says loyalty is forged with blood. They have not bled for you and they may say sweet words to your face but stab you in the back when you are weak." Jon said.

Robb laughed as he drank down his water. "You have become a Master of Whispers in the South. You are far more wary than before."

"You would not be the first heir betrayed by their bannermen. Look at the Targaryens. Tywin Lannister was Hand of the King for twenty years. He sacked King's Landing and his son killed Aerys." Jon said.

"Aye. You are right. War can change men, and not always for the better." Robb said. "Where will you be? Will you ride by my side? Forget what my Lady Mother says. I would give you an important command in the army."

"Let me tend my machines first. I have trained a few dozen boys from Winter Town on how to use the catapult and ballista. I would direct them against the Lannister cavalry. Do not give me a command, until your men know I am worthy of one." Jon said.

"You are more than worthy of leading men, brother." Robb said.

"You know that. But your men do not. They whisper already that you are not ready for overall military command. You will prove that on the field and so will I." Jon said.

Robb nodded his fervent agreement. Jon took out a simple wooden cyvasse set that he purchased on the docks of Oldtown. Alleras scoffed at the quality but he had told her a Northern bastard could not afford fancy toys. She said haughtily that he should have been born a Sand but then smiled to take away the sting.

Robb poured out the summer wine into their cups of water. He had picked up the game quickly but Jon could beat him even with a light cavalry handicap. Robb had a natural gift for tactics - forks, pins and sacrificing pieces on the board to threaten the king. He was poor at strategy and long term vision. Jon knew he would help his brother improve there.

* * *

Jon spent much of the next two days with his brothers Bran and Rickon and their wolves Summer and Shaggy Dog. Robb had little time for his younger brothers and Lady Stark was in great demand with various Houses, working to shore up support for the march South. Several vassals voiced concerns and conflicts, that they hoped the Starks could help resolve. Robb had no desire to intervene between Lords and claimed rightly that any lasting decision had to be made by Ned Stark so his mother listened to their complaints.

Jon thought it rather odd that Lady Stark had began this conflict over Bran, and yet spent little time with the boy, leaving him to Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick. But even those two were busy with managing the household. Osha the Wildling and gentle Hodor took care of the children, and the two odd and very tall companions stood near as Jon wrapped the thick ropes around the metal windlass of the trebuchet. A few boys from the town, too low born to be accepted as squires, also watched as Jon built the machines that they would use in war.

"Aren't they too little to pull back the lever?" Rickon asked. It was a question that many in the room wanted to ask.

"This is a counterweight trebuchet. See that large box in the middle." Jon pointed while the boys nodded. "It is full of stones and sand. The long lever is pulled and thrown by that weight, not your arms. All the lads have to do is load a 20 pound rock in the sling when it comes down."

"And you think this can be used in war?" Bran asked.

"Aye, these are small trebuchets. If you load them correctly, they can fire two rounds a minute. The rock can go hundreds of yards and kill a horse easily." Jon said.

"It is not chivalrous to attack an animal." Bran said.

Jon shrugged. "It is war, Bran. Better to kill them than let them kill us. The faster they die, the quicker Father and our sisters can return home."

"Do you have to go Jon? Why can't you stay here?" Rickon asked. Shaggy Dog snarled loudly, spooking several horses who had cantered over to drink from a trough. Ghost nudged his wild brother, and the black wolf calmed down under the stare of the white wolf.

"Aye, Little brother. Someone needs to tell Robb when the battle begins. Otherwise he will spend all his time feasting with lords and fighting off marriage proposals." The two Starks and Snow laughed. Everyone at Winterfell knew that both Rickard Karstark and Wylis Manderly had offered their daughters respectively. Robb had been more flummoxed than dealing with the Greatjon. Theon advised the heir of Winterfell to take both maidenheads which showed how Iron Islanders followed their cock over their brain.

Jon finished the last adjustments on the trebuchet. He turned to the other boys in the room. "Chett, Clydas, Shayn, and Denys. Practice loading and firing the machine this afternoon. I will send out meat and bread from the kitchen." Jon and his brothers went to find Robb.

* * *

Robb was in the training yard sparring with his men. Theon Greyjoy looked on, boasting to everyone that he had taught Robb everything about sword fighting. Jon doubted that was true. Robb was good with the blade while Theon preferred the bow.

An entire battalion of Karstarks, fully armored and armed, ringed the courtyard. Other houses watched but the Karstark men, with their tall oaken shields and long spears pointed at the sky, dominated the audience. Robb and two big bearded men wielding battle axes and wearing the white sunburst on black had beaten a Hornwood and a Locke but could not penetrate the defense of their final opponent, a quick warrior with an iron helmet and giant studded mace.

"Enough. You all have fought well this morning, my Lords." Robb said, pausing the combat.

"And Lady." The warrior took off the helmet, revealing a lanky woman with jet black hair and dark eyes. A few she bears cheered, and Jon was sure that this was the Heir to Bear Island. She was not as large as Smalljon Umber but still taller than Robb or Jon.

Robb recognized his brothers and motioned them over. "Jon, these men will ride with me as my honor guard. This is Torrhen and Eddard Karstark. We were fighting Daryn Hornwood and Donnel Locke. And this is Dacey Mormont."

"Pleased to meet you all. Jon Snow." he said.

"You are the Maester." Daryn Hornwood said. He was a jovial lad, smiling despite his loss. "Do you spar at Oldtown?"

"Only an Acolyte. You have to forge your chain and take vows to become a Maester. And no sparring. We are taught that our mind is the best weapon."

"No swords. Did they cut off your cock too at the Citadel?" Theon hooted. Jon stayed calm but Robb flushed red.

"Greyjoy, Jon was better at you with a blade when he was 12." Robb snarked.

"I would like a spar, Maester Snow." one of the Karstark boys said. He was a younger version of his father, tall and broad shouldered, with hair loose past his shoulders. Two long braids fell down in front of his ears to a metal neck guard and he clutched the long axe tightly with both hands.

The yard quieted as the nobles looked to Robb. Jon knew Robb could not refuse the challenge without losing prestige. He wondered if Lord Karstark had planned this - to proclaim that Robb was a green boy with a cripple and a weakling for his brothers while his two sisters were prisoners at King's Landing. The North preferred swords and spears, not books, Jon thought. Then again, they had not seen what a trebuchet could do to castle walls. "I accept, Karstark."

* * *

Eddard Karstark nodded and Jon took a blunted blade from a rack. He jabbed a few times for balance and to feel the weight.

"Jon, don't you want any armor?" Robb asked. Eddard wore boiled leather with large metal plates over his shoulders and chest. Jon noted that Karstark had little protection on his arms.

"No, I won't need it to win." Jon said to the snorts of several of the Karstark men. He planned to use quickness and had no desire to match blows with his broad shouldered foe.

Rickard Karstark and Roose Bolton had joined the crowd, as had both Umbers and the Glovers. The courtyard was filled with Lords and knights, and many eyes stared hard at Jon, wondering how a maester would handle a blade.

Jon raised the sword to Eddard, keeping his left leg behind, so that he offered the smallest target to the battle axe. Karstark swung with all the might of his arms, and Jon merely backed up - the axe whistling through the air. Jon danced around on the balls of his feet, side stepping to the left and right, and the sword barely moved, and even then, the least energy possible was used to deflect the axe blows. The attack and defense continued for several minutes with Karstark increasingly annoyed, and taking heavier and wider swings. Jon was certain he could nick his opponent easily in both elbows and upper arms or slash the right thigh, but he decided to end it quickly without bloodshed.

He slowed down and Karstark unleashed a mighty blow from his right. Jon stepped forward, using the blade to turn the momentum of the axe down toward the hard packed earth. His right foot was past Eddard and the axe buried in the ground, when John turned to his foe's exposed side. He stamped viciously on the back of the right leg, and as Eddard stumbled onto his knees, Jon slammed the pommel into the back of the neck, knocking him to the floor. He then ran the blade over the back in a motion that would have exposed heart and lungs in a real fight.

The yard was stunned except for loud cheering from Bran and Rickon. Robb chuckled first, and then several bannermen applauded, even if the Karstark soldiers did not. Jon held out his hand, and pulled Eddard up, although the axe remained on the ground.

"Thank you for the spar." Jon said. Harrion and Torrhen came over to check on their groggy brother, with their father standing apart. "You swing too hard."

Eddard's sense were returning. "What do you mean?"

Jon picked up the axe and handed it back to him. "You are strong enough that if it hit, the axe would slice through anything but the toughest plate. You don't need to swing so much. With a smaller motion, you could recover and defend better. When you lose balance, your arms and legs are exposed. You would fight better if you fought easier." Jon said.

Eddard placed the axe on his belt, and then stood up to shake Jon's hand, his admiration clear to anyone nearby. "You may be right, Snow. I would like to fight by your side."

"We will, when we face the Lannisters." Jon said.

"Where did you learn that? Is that how knights in the South fight?" Rickon asked.

"I am no knight. I have to use these tricks to keep up with your brother Robb. He is a great swordsman, far better than Theon." Jon said smirking.

"You will have to show me that move, Snow." Robb said. "Now, let's have food and drink."

* * *

Jon mopped up the remains of venison, turnip and barley stew with warm oat bread. It would not be considered much of a meal in the Reach but the food was rich and hearty, and washed down with weak ale, satisfied his simple tastes. Robb ate with his honor guard, and Jon saw pork pies, roast pig, turnips smothered in butter and wine at the high table. Wendel Manderly had invited him to join them, but he had declined, saying that seat of honor was for Robb's protectors, and he was happy to dine with his brothers, Bran and Rickon. The younger Manderly apologized again for not hosting a dinner in White Harbour but Jon said he was grateful for the sturdy horse, and accepted an invitation to revisit the Mermaid's Court after the war.

As they ate, Jon told stories of Oldtown to Rickon and Bran - cobbled streets that turned into small islands connected by stone bridges, bustling with travellers from far away places, Essos, the Summer Isles, and even more exotic locale. Oldtown was second in size only to King's Landing and there had been settlements on the Honeywine as soon as the First Men had settled Westeros, ten thousand years ago. He hoped one day to return there - perhaps with Robb, Arya and their younger brothers - and introduce them to the Reach. Bran would enjoy the library at the Citadel, and Rickon would wonder at the Starry Sept and the Hightower. Sansa would be Queen and would visit the Citadel with knights and guards - not a bastard.

Jon remembered fondly his last dinner in Oldtown where Owen and Alleras bickered playfully over the quality of food in the South. Alleras ordered dishes from Dorne - spicy red and green peppers stuffed with cheese and onions, and flatbread with chickpea paste, mesquite honey and salty olives. Owen and Alayn countered with victuals from their homeland, decadent in fruit and spices. Owen unveiled his favorite dishes from Cider Hall - spiced brawn (meat jelly from the head of a pig) in a sauce of garlic, apples (three different types!), and cloves, a spinach, plum and apple salad, and a cheese plate good enough for the Queen of Thorns. Alleras japed that food from the Reach was like the people - bland, fatty and plain while Dornish cuisine was dainty, spicy and intriguing. Owen trumped that argument with bottles of Arbor gold, much better he claimed than sour Dornish wine. Alleras said that he had clearly never been to Sunspear.

* * *

"Snow." The call came from the middle of the girls, a lass perhaps ten and nine, wearing furs over ring mail and and carrying a mace like her older and younger sister. She was short, chunky and strong, unlike the heir Dacey, and Jon remembered the last meeting with Jorelle Mormont, a few weeks before his twelfth name day. He had disarmed her in a spar, and she had been both impressed and glad her family had not witnessed her easy defeat.

"Jory. These must be your sisters?" Jon said. They had the Mormont look - dark hair, stern gaze, sturdy arms and legs, hands calloused from hours with the mace and sword, ready to fight Ironborn or Wildling. The youngest was Bran's age but she carried a short sword.

"This is Lyra and Lyanna." Mormonts did not curtsy. Jory sat down opposite Jon, her sisters took places on both sides. "So is it true what the Greyjoy say?"

"Greyjoy says a great deal, mostly to impress scullery wenches. What exactly are you referring to?" Jon replied. Theon had japed about bagging and bedding all the Mormont sisters, even ten year old Lyanna, until Dacey threatened to cut his balls off with a dull knife. He poured some watered down ale for the three sisters.

"He says you don't know how to use your cock. I told him I could prove him wrong." Jorelle said, leaning her heavy teats forward.

Jon blushed slightly. "Greyjoy sticks his cock into anything that moves. The Citadel is full of men. That sort of thing might interest Iron Islanders on their boats."

"Sounds just as bad as the Night's Watch." Lyra cracked.

"I enjoyed the Citadel. There are people from over the world, and the library has so many books that no man can hope to read them all.' Jon said.

"Jon. You don't need to become a maester." Jory said. "Come to Bear Island. My Lady Mother would welcome you there."

"I don't want to impose." Jon said.

Jory stared at him with fierce brown eyes. "For such a smart boy, you can be really stupid. The She Bear would be proud to have you join our family with her daughters. My mother says that any son of Ned Stark would be a good one - and you are the prettiest and the most learned. Could you not make Bear Island your home?"

When he needed to clear his mind from thoughts on steel, Jon sketched ideas that he would implement if he was the Lord of Winterfell or Brandon the Builder Reborn. He would build longships on Bear Island from the tall pine and oak trees to control the Bay of Ice and sent those southwards to House Flint to defend against Pyke and trade with Lannisport and Oldtown. He would ship the timber on rivers down to the Neck and port them to White Harbour. He read a scroll of the First Men that spoke of a tree that thrived in weirwood forests and produced warm and sweet juice. He could plant those trees in Bear Island and sell the sap in the South.

"Jon Snow, what are you thinking?" Jory said.

"It is a kind offer. But my first duty is to Robb. While I can help him, I will. I promise to come to Bear Island someday." Jon said.

"You would be welcomed by us." Lyra said, her strong calloused hand stroking his wrist. "Many of us, not just Jory. Mother speaks well of you to all her daughters."

"Aye, Snow." Jorelle jabbed her finger at his chest and gave a crooked smile. "Stop living with your head up your arse and your cock in a book. Now tell us about these weapons you craft. They say you have dozens of younglings manning these things."

Jon took the Mormont girls out to inspect the catapults and, scorpions. They understood the ballista easiest. After all, it was just a large crossbow. Jon kept the trebuchets hidden. Those siege machines would be a surprise, nasty for the Lannisters and pleasant for the Starks.

* * *

Jon was glad the final Feast of Winterfell was tonight, and they would march in the morning. There had been too much drinking, boasting, and brawling. A Bolton man had pulled out a knife and threatened to flay a Hornwood knight. Roose Bolton intervened and his cold eyes froze the other retainers, but the lone Bolton man slowly backed down, the strange broad grin not leaving his face. Jon wondered whether the man was a fool or mad with blood lust. Even Lord Eddard Stark had been careful around Roose Bolton.

Jon had hoped for some quiet time with Bran and Rickon but the loud hall was a poor setting for that wish. Maege Mormont had bought her brood over to thank Jon for showing them the siege weapons. The Manderlys complimented the roast elk in oil and mustard and the mutton chops sauced with Southern spices and honey. Wendel and Wylis certainly ate enough of both dishes, Jon thought, although the feasts at White Harbour were likely more lavish. Lord Cerwyn promised to send his heir Cley to visit Bran at Winterfell and serve the Starks. Cley was two years older than Bran but Jon was happy that his young brothers would have male company close to their age. Jon left dinner, with the loud boasts of Rickard Karstark, Theon Greyjoy and Robbett Glover still ringing in the Hall, to put Rickon and Bran to sleep. He told Rickon a story of the Targaryen queen's visit to Winterfell in the time of Alaric Stark and hugged a lonely Bran, promising that he would return and bring their sisters back. The Pack would reunite one day, and Jon knew that Ghost and Grey Wind promised Summer and Shaggy Dog the same.

Jon saw the light in the solar and went to find his brother. Robb sat in Ned Stark's chair, a half burnt candle illuminating his red brown hair as he gazed over a detailed map of the Riverlands. Jon used every shred of information in the scrolls and books at Winterfell to draw the hills and forests, and give a sense of the topology of the river and the land.

His brother motioned to a chair, and Jon saw that Robb drank cold water as somber blue eyes lifted from the map.

"You look worried." Jon said as he sat down.

"I spoke to mother. She received a raven from Riverrun. Tywin Lannister unleashed his men on the Riverlands. We will have to battle them long before we get close to King's Landing. What if they hurt our sisters and father when we march?" Robb said.

"Then they are fools. Father is their most valuable prisoner. You are his heir. If they should kill him, you become Lord Stark with an army, and it would be Robert's Rebellion again. We would get revenge and another would sit on the Iron Throne." Jon said.

"You didn't meet Joffrey. The boy is cruel and callous. He ordered Arya's friend, a butcher boy, killed by the Hound and Sansa's wolf executed. He may mistreat his prisoners." Robb said

"Killing the Warden of the North would prolong any war. The Lannisters must know that. Whatever the outcome in battle, if Father is alive, a settlement can be negotiated. The Mad King killed both Lord Stark and his heir and everyone knows what happened next. Had Aerys imprisoned Rickard and Brandon, we would still bow to dragons. Only a fool doesn't know that Arya and Sansa are far less valuable than Lord Stark to our bannermen, and that the North would be honor bound to revenge their liege lord's death." Jon said.

"I want all of them back. They belong to the North, not in that shit hole of King's Landing."

"I agree. We love our sisters, but not every Lord sees a girl as that precious. Even Father treated Sansa as a prize to be married off." Jon said. Sons had always been valued more in the succession, since the Dance of the Dragons. "What is truly on your mind, Robb?"

"Gods, we are so young. Are we really ready to fight a war?" Robb said. He looked far more hesitant than when he faced his bannerman.

"Robert Baratheon and Father called their banners when they were but nineteen years of age." Jon said.

"Nineteen is not sixteen. We should be training in the yard, learning how to be Lords, and considering betrothals." Robb said sourly.

Jon thought his brother presumed a great deal that Father would train a bastard to be a Lord or find a wife. "I heard Wylis Manderly is pushing his eldest on you." He said with a sly smile.

Robb's hearty laugh brightened the room. "You should marry the younger Manderly girl - Wylla. Then we would be brother and goodbrother." Robb quipped. "Unless you intend to find a blushing Southron maiden."

"I am sure the Lannisters or the Tyrells will be eager to keep me warm and happy. Or perhaps I will find a spicy Dornish woman or two." Jon jested before taking on a more serious note. "Robb, you did the right thing to call the banners. The Iron Throne will only listen to force, and after a few victories, they will be forced to agree to terms. We are young, but this is the only choice we have. Wolves do not bow to lions."

"You are right, Jon. Thank you for being here and marching with me. And for taking care of Bran and Rickon. Rickon is very pleased with the crossbow you gave him." Robb said.

That hand crossbow looked like a simple toy, but Jon tested it out on archery butts. At twenty feet, the bolt could pierce half a foot of earth, enough for the eye of a wildling or Ironborn. "I will miss both Bran and Rickon. I want to beat the Lannisters and then return North with Father and our sisters. Rickon and Bran deserve that too." Jon said.

"I agree, Snow. We march tomorrow."

"Aye, Stark. We both need rest for the battles to come." Jon said.


	4. The Crossing

**The Crossing**

Jon rode the sturdy little garron down the Kingsroad in the center of the Northern Army. He kept watch over the catapults, trebuchets and other siege machines pulled in several wagons and his special supplies - saws, hammers, ropes, block and tackles, nails, adzes, and large nine inch nails. Each boy trained for the artillery had responsibility for certain tools, and Jon received reports daily on the equipment. The wagons also carried steel gears, hooks and pulleys and a large load of ironwood, strong and hard but also quite light.

Robb had made excellent time, and the army had reached the Neck in five days. Jon dismounted and prepared for nightfall. With Ghost by his side, he spoke to the boys in each wagon, making certain from their leaders that there was ample food and drink. After he finished, Jon fed and watered the garron and proceeded to walk about the camp. Ghost caught the scent of his littermate Grey Wind, and the two dire wolves had gone off to hunt.

Years ago, before the Citadel, Jon occasionally envied the attention paid to Robb as heir to Winterfell. On this march though, he was happy to be a Snow and not a Stark. Every minute, Robb was surrounded by nobles and lords who wanted his time. The Umbers demanded to march before the Glovers. The Glovers asked for funds from Winterfell to build ships to repel the Ironborn. The Karstarks, or at least Lord Rickard Karstark, sneered at everyone, claiming pre-eminence through their blood ties with the Starks, a great irritant to the Manderly brothers.

Jon thought Robb managed the army well, handling the many lords and heirs. Twelve thousand men and three thousand cavalry had ridden down from Winterfell. Another four thousand had joined during the march - Flints, the mountain clans, and men from White Harbour and Deepwood Motte. Every morning and evening, Robb had ridden with a different Lord, lending an ear to concerns and asking about their family and men. Robb's battle guard was large and growing, and he made sure to recognize each member, regardless of future inheritance or the power of their House. A few, like Daryn Hornwood and Dacey Mormont, would become Lords while some like the Karstarks and Owen Norrey were second and third sons.

The Northern army was sixteen thousand large, with much of the strength concentrated in a few great houses. The Karstarks provided twenty three hundred men and the Manderlys fifteen hundred. The Umbers and Boltons sent two thousand each, although Jon noted that the Boltons had far fewer horse than expected. The first three houses were loud in their demands for Robb's attention but it was the last one - the flayed man of House Bolton - whose silence bothered Jon more. The Bolton men were as hard and aggressive as any Umber or Karstark but a silent Roose Bolton controlled them with a silent but iron fist, and Jon found that more disturbing than arrogance or boasts.

Jon enjoyed his time with the Mormonts and the Forresters. The Mormonts were brave but poor, their home of Bear island suffering from wildling raids, Iron Born, and a lack of trade. Maege Mormont, a short tempered, proud and willful lady, had brought three daughters South - Dacey, Lyra and Jorelle, and they were all tough and could wield a spiked mace better than any man. If he had a working forge, Jon would have offered to craft stronger armor for the She-Bears, as he admired their fierce independence. The Forresters were rich but few, as they controlled the largest source of ironwood in the North. Ethan Forrester, the third son, had been curious about the siege engines and sought him out to ask questions of the Citadel. Jon was happy to answer them for some day when Robb was Lord of Winterfell, he planned to visit the forests and experiment with uses of ironwood material in water and windmills.

* * *

"Snow." Several members of the honor guard had come to visit the center of the caravan, including Dacey Mormont to see her sisters, and Daryn Hornwood with Eddard and Torrhen Karstark to accompany Dacey. Jon had heard rumors that Hornwood was betrothed to Alys Karstark but the future Lord clearly had eyes for the tall and comely Dacey, to the chagrin of the Karstark brothers. Then again, Lord Rickard made it clear that he would be happy to replace Daryn with Robb for Alys's hand, if the heir to Winterfell indicated any interest.

"Not riding with Robb?" Jon asked the crowd.

"Theon Greyjoy keeps bragging about his manhood." Dacey said, rolling her eyes. "He says he slept with three wenches the night before we marched."

"How does one man satisfy three women?" Eddard Karstark wondered, receiving a quick clout on the head from his older brother.

Jon had no idea. He was a maiden still and he had no wish to father a bastard. He whittled a wooden winch with his knife.

"What are you doing?" Eddard Karstark asked.

"The winch can be used for a pulley." Jon continued despite the confusion in their faces. "A pulley can pull things of great weight, like heavy logs of wood or giant stones."

"Is it for your war machines?" Hornwood asked. Jon nodded although in truth, the winch could be used for many things.

"My sisters say you have not fired the catapults since Winterfell. Do you not need to test them?" Dacey asked.

"No, I already know what they can do, and my men have trained. And there may be spies in our camp." Jon said. "I asked my father why he didn't fight in tournaments. Lord Stark said that when he fights a man for real, he wants his enemy to not know what he can do. The Lannisters will not expect these weapons. They will pay for their crimes against the North. We will see how well their cavalry hold against artillery."

* * *

A day and a half later, the Northern Army had reached the Trident. That river was the heart of the Riverlands, and they were at the Green Fork. The Trident was not wide at that point but the River ran high and fast at the crossing. The first battles of the war went poorly for the Riverlords. Jaime Lannister broke Lord Vance and Lord Piper at the Golden Tooth, advancing to Riverrun. Ser Edmure Tully had been taken hostage but Piper and Blackwood led survivors back to the Tully castle, forcing a siege. Gregor Clegane's forces had joined with Tywin Lannister after wiping out Ser Beric Dondarrion, and that army was pillaging and burning the land.

Robb's force reached the Twins in the late afternoon. The stronghold consisted of two identical castles with high walls, a deep moat, and a barbican and portcullis on both sides. The stone bridge was less than five hundred feet long and wide enough for four warhorses to ride abreast or two large wagons. The Freys could dig channels, making each castle an island and the bridge was guarded by a strong tower with arrow slits and murder holes, and portcullises for defense. Anyone who controlled that central tower could rain death onto the bridge. The Twins lied directly in the path from Winterfell to Riverrun. The ancestors to the Frey family had chosen this point, the narrowest of the Trident, and constructed the only bridge for hundreds of miles on each side. It was an astute decision, Jon thought, as he examined the lush forests nearby.

The Lords were summoned and Jon walked over with Maege Mormont, and Rodrik Forrester to the command tent. A small group of knights with two blue towers and a bridge as a sigil stood outside. Lady Stark's face was sour, and Jon was thankful he was not to blame for her mood. Robb was stone faced but the anger of the Greatjon and Lord Karstark were obvious to all.

"Lord Frey refuses us passage." Catelyn Stark said. "He claims he does not wish to anger the Iron Throne, and that Tywin Lannister has a long memory."

"His liege lord is besieged at Riverrun. He has sworn oaths to Hoster Tully." Robb said.

"The word of a Frey is about as worthless as one of their knights in battle." the Greatjon said to agreement of many Northern Lords.

"Do you think he means to betray us to the Lannisters?" a nervous Robett Glover asked.

"Walder Frey is cunning but cautious. He will wait and wait until he is forced. He wants the greatest reward with the least risk." Lady Stark said.

"We need to cross the Trident." Robb said. "There are two Lannister armies. If we cannot cross, our allies will be crushed by one, while we must fight the other."

"We should attack the Twins. We have four times as many troops as they." Theon said. Jon thought of the incredible stupidity of that comment. With the bridge as a source of supplies and reinforcements, the castles were difficult to besiege. Whoever controlled the Water Tower ruled the bridge. And the Freys had seen the Northern Host from miles away. The fortresses would be well stocked with men and food. Theon's lack of skill as a military strategist was only matched by his preoccupation with his cock. Fortunately, Robb had better sense.

"No. A siege would cost us many months. Riverrun can hold out for one or two moons but not that long. Mother, you will need to treat with Lord Frey." Robb said, the disgust clear in his voice.

"Walder Frey will extract a heavy price, my Lady." Rickard Karstark added. "He is as greedy as he is lusty. The man is 90 years old and bedded his eighth wife last year."

Jon left the meeting deep in thought. He had an idea but before he spoke to Robb, he needed to find a few answers. With Ghost and Grey Wind watching, he cut a long, thin pole from a dead oak tree and then stripped the branches. He marked off one foot increments on the pole and undressed to jump into the river. The current was quick but Jon was a strong swimmer and stayed close to the western bank. He jabbed the pole deep into the riverbed and then swam for the shore, his right hand steady. Eight feet deep. Less than he expected. When he emerged cold and wet, he saw the lush forest of trees - oak, pine and hawthorn. A great deal of wood, a shallow river, a narrow crossing. He could work with this. Jon would need to speak to the Manderlys and the crannogmen tonight and then burn a midnight candle. He had diagrams to draw and distances to measure.

* * *

The next morning, he walked to Robb's tent. His brother had awoken with the sun, and a few Northern boys carried pails of water and food for both men and horses. All around them, the honor guard started to rise although Jon noted that Quent and Shad, long time Stark men, were wide awake, patrolling the tent.

Jon had bought the two Manderly brothers and a cousin. He needed Wylis and Wendel to speak, but it was the opinion of Maturin Manderly, whose father was harbour master and castellan of Seal Rock, who mattered. A few crannogmen came too, Arslan Peat and Ebbert Boggs. Jon's entrance during breakfast went unnoticed for a minute.

"Still no word from your Lady Mother?" Robett Glover asked.

"Lord Frey declined to see her last night. The longer he delays, the higher the toll. He believes us desperate." Robb said and then smiled at seeing his brother. "Jon - care to join for us for bacon and bread?" Grey Wind playfully licked Ghost's nose.

"Robb, I have a thought. But first, I wanted you to hear something from the Manderlys." Jon said

Wylis Manderly stepped forward, clasping fat meaty hands in front of an impressive belly. The Heir to White Knife was not boisterous like his father but his formal dignity quieted the crowd. "Lord Stark, your brother has asked us a question on our naval knowledge. The best person would be my cousin, Maturin Manderly." Another large, round faced man stepped forward.

"Ser Snow. Any ship with a capable crew could hold such a machine in place. We can even use a flat barge or fisherman boat and use anchors and oars to do so." Maturin said. Jon expected the answer and didn't have time to correct his title.

"What machine, Jon?" Robb said.

Jon took out a piece of parchment and the men gathered about. There was a drawing of a structure built from four long poles in a pyramid with a sturdy wooden base. Steps were cut on two poles on opposite sides and there was a one last pole in a face of the pyramid where a large but narrow wooden crate rested tied to a long rope with several pulleys attached. That rope finished in a steel capstan, a horizontal crank, large enough for four strong men to turn.

"Err - what is that, Jon?" Robb asked again.

"This is a crane, and the Manderlys say that we can use it on any riverboat. The crate will hold timber pilings lashed together by boards and rope. This crane will drive the pilings into the river floor. It can make a foundation, Robb!" Jon said.

"A foundation for what?" Robb asked.

"A bridge - I can build you a bridge across the Trident." Jon said to many incredulous faces in the tent.

Before Robb could fully take in his bastard brother's words, Lady Stark returned, flanked by several weasel like Freys. She calmed herself before asking Ser Stevron, a grey eyed man with balding grey hair tied in a topknot, to stay outside.

Lady Stark began immediately, once the tent flaps were closed. "Lord Walder Frey has named his price. He wishes Robb to marry one of his daughters, Arya to be betrothed to another, two Freys to be taken as squires. Two other Freys will be fostered at Winterfell, and he expects Lord Stark to help make marriage alliances for other Frey knights." Lady Stark's bitter expression was mild compared to the outrage on the honor guard.

"Two marriages, squires and wards. Why doesn't he ask for a dragon egg and a gold mine as well?" Daryn Hornwood japed.

"How many swords and horse?" Robb asked.

"4000 men of which 1000 are knights" Lady Stark said.

"Frey knights. Cunts who can barely hold a sword the right way. They fight like blind and crippled bears. No offense, Lady Mormonts." Umber hastened to tell Dacey and her mother. The She Bear had joined several Lords in the tent when Lady Stark returned.

"None taken, Smalljon. One green Mormont boy is worth ten Freys." Maege Mormont said.

"You need the passage, Robb. Walder Frey knows that." Lady Stark said.

The mood in the tent had turned sour and Jon decided to speak up for his brother. "Robb is worth more than this. He is the heir to Winterfell, and the son of one of the greatest Lords of the realm." he said.

"And what does a bastard know about making marriage alliances?" Catelyn responded.

Jon did not flinch. "I know this. House Hightower has fifteen thousand swords and the wealth of Oldtown. House Tarly has ten thousand swords and a skilled commander. House Frey has Walder Frey, his get and a bridge. One day, Robb will be Lord Stark. The Starks have ruled the North for eight thousand years. His hand in marriage is a valuable prize, and not to be wasted." Jon said before addressing Robb directly. "Lord Stark, I can get the army across the Trident."

"Tell me more. What will you need, Jon?" Robb asked.

"Thousands of strong men who will work hard. We need to cut and saw a great deal of timber, and lash them together as poles. The Crannogmen say they will build rafts to ferry men across to defend the other side. Give me eight days, and I will give you the crossing." Jon said.

"I do not see how that is possible." The cold voice of Roose Bolton filled the room. "The water is fast and the rush of the Trident can blow poles away. Not only men need to cross but horses, wagons, and all of our supplies. Lord Frey will only increase the price if he sees us desperate."

"Riverrun is besieged, Robb. We need to relieve my father." Lady Stark said.

Robb held up his hand for silence and thought for a minute. "Do you think the Freys will attack as we are building?"

Lady Stark shook her head. The Freys were more likely to huddle in their tower, waiting for the effort to fail. House Frey was not known for martial prowess.

Lord Karstark stood in the corner with his sons. "It took the Freys fifty years to build the Bridge in stone. They will think us fools if we try to build it in war."

Robb looked at Jon's unflinching eyes and nodded. "Riverrun is under siege but it won't fall quickly. The Blackfish is not so easy to defeat. It will hold for many months. The Rivermen have already been pushed back into their castles so nothing will change in a week. The Lannisters will think us stuck at the crossing. They might be easier to ambush then. My Lord, I trust my brother Jon. He is a man of his Word. If he says, it can be done. What more can I do?"

"Allow me to address the men in the camp. I will explain what I need. My boys cannot do this alone but with the help of your Lords, I can." Jon said.

Catelyn Stark tried to whisper into her son's ear. "You cannot allow the bastard to do this." Robb gave her a cold stare and walked away.

"Lord Umber, Lord Karstark, Lord Bolton - send messengers to gather the men. Our captains and knights and heads of House will assemble in fifteen minutes. Lady Stark, send the Freys away. Tell them we will consider their offer." Robb said.

* * *

The leaders of the army gathered near the river bank, where three wagons sat, with much metal machinery and hornwood on blankets of leather and skin. Chett and Denys were unloading saws and adzes from another wagon nearer the trees but had returned, leaving several boys to continue preparations.

Jon stood with Robb in front of hundreds of men. Thousands more, milled close, curious as to the events of the day. He had not spoken to an army before but he had presented in front of packed halls of maesters and students. He had not been nervous then, and he would not be nervous now. As the crowd gathered, Jon worked on a sketch of the future bridge.

"My Lords and Knights, my brother Jon would speak." Robb said simply.

Jon put away his drawing in a pouch and turned his eyes to the men and Mormonts. "Walder Frey wishes to hold us hostage. He demands our leader's hand in marriage, my trueborn sister, two wards at Winterfell, multiple squires, and to Lord over the North. It is his duty to help his besieged sworn lord against the Lannisters, but he sits in the castle, refusing us passage. Will we allow him to extort us? To rob us? To tell us what to do?" Loud snorts of no and cries of disgust rang out. "What do we say to people who would steal from and cheat us?" Jon expected an answer of No but the men of the North had a more pungent response.

"I say **FUCK THE FREYS**!" Smalljon Umber roared. The chant echoed through the crowd. "**FUCK THE FREYS**, **FUCK THE FREYS**, **FUCK THE FREYS**" could be heard loud and clear and for several minutes.

"Aye, but I will need your help. Brave men must stand guard on the other side of the Trident. We will have to saw and cut timber, lash poles together, and bring the boats to the right spots on the river. I will build a crane to construct the bridge. This machine will increase lifting power tenfold. A man who can raise 50 pounds will be able to pull 500 with this crane. But for that final task, I will need the biggest, strongest, toughest men in the North. Are you with me?" Jon said. Once again, Jon miscalculated. He expected an Aye, but the thundering crowd surpassed his expectations. And then Smalljon rose to his feet.

"You need men, not little boys. Only the Umbers will do." Smalljon lifted his arms to the sky and then lowered them to flex bulging muscles. The red headed and red bearded Smalljon was not small, and only slightly less broad than the massive Greatjon.

A fierce rangy warrior with a black cloak patterned with white suns snorted loudly. "The Karstarks are stronger than you. My brothers and I will lay down this bridge." Harrion Stark, the heir to Karhold, beckoned Torrhen and Eddard to join him. The Smalljon was perhaps an inch or two taller but the three Karstark boys were long limbed, powerful men. The Greatjon and Lord Rickard stood aloof as their children glared, with no hint of backing down.

"My Lords, there is a great deal of work. The crane will require many strong men, Umbers, Karstarks and others. The work will take hours and we must have shifts. We need everyone. Manderlys for the boat, crannogmen to get soldiers ashore, boys and men - young and old together." Jon said. The cheers of the crowd could be heard far along the river.

* * *

The next day, Robb walked about, shocked at the speed of transformation of his army. Many thick poles had been cut into long lengths, ranging from eighteen to twenty two feet. The poles were lashed into bundles, like a giant's fence, by the river bank. The camp buzzed with activity, and working through the night by the light of a fire, Jon had finished the crane.

The crane was immense. It was twenty five feet high with a cradle that easily held two connected poles in the basket. Robb had never studied building but the key was the center block and tackle that held a long rope in a five pulley system. The rope extended down to a metal capstan with longer wooden handles. There, men could wind the rope, lift the pilings up to the apex, and then release. The force was magnified by an immense rock counterweight which the capstan and the pulleys lifted until the poles were dropped down, smashing into the river floor.

The Manderly men commandeered a barge from local merchants with some compensation and the crane was loaded onto the boat. Experts from White Harbour practiced positioning and securing the boat in exact locations with sail and oars. Several houses - the Forresters, the Hornwoods, and the Whitehills - took charge of the timber and lumber operation. In particular, many of the Forrester men were skilled lumberjacks. The mountain clans - Knotts, Wulls and Burleys - won the dice game for the honor of defending the far side of the river and the crannogmen rafted them over that morning in force. Robb was pleased that there had been no reaction from the Twins, even as armored archers patrolled the towers.

"It will never work." Theon Greyjoy said, drinking from a wineskin. "The poles are far too long, and they will snap from the current." Robb knew that many whispered the same in private.

"It is certainly unusual." Galbert Glover said cautiously. "I had not known maesters were capable of such things. I thought all they did was talk about the history of kings and tell you not to eat and drink too much."

"That boy is either mad or brilliant." Maege Mormont said.

"Perhaps, he is both." Dacey said.

Robb had asked Jon if he could help. Men from almost every single house pitched in, eager to attempt to do their best to Fuck the Freys. Only the Boltons stayed distant, as their men claimed it was a complete waste of time. Most Lords, even if they were privately skeptical, monitored the activity with care, for no one had witnessed such a feat of construction in their lifetimes.

Jon's reply to Robb's question had been a chuckle and a smirk. His brother asked Robb "How does a lord raise a banner?"

Instead of guessing, Robb merely responded. "How?"

"A lord tells his steward. How does a steward raise a banner? The steward tells his master at arms. How does a master at arms raise a banner? He orders his men. Robb, you are our lord general. Let your men handle this. All you need to do is to look pretty, feast with your men, and turn down wedding proposals." Jon said with a twinkle in his eyes.

They laughed but Robb took Jon's advice to heart. He walked about the camp, speaking to commanders, praising the hard work of the men, and smiling at smallfolk and nobles alike. He had no idea how the bridge would be erected but he trusted Jon.

* * *

Late in the afternoon, less than thirty six hours from the rejection of the Frey offer, the first pier was ready. The three Karstark boys and Greatjon and Smalljon Umber were in the boat, close to shore, with Jon, Wylis and Maturin Manderly. Crannogmen clustered about in rafts, ready to bring more supplies. The great and small Lords watched from the river bank, and Robb held his breath without realizing.

The logs were one and half foot thick, sharpened to a point a little above the lower end and shortened slightly given it was close to the river bank. Logs were tied together in pairs with nails, boards and rope, with a two foot gap in between. The piles were brought to the boat in rafts and then the Karstarks and Umbers tied them to cradle of the crane, and lifted them high in the air. And then, the five men drove the piles into the river bed, not vertically, but leaning at an angle forward in the direction of the current. The boat then moved 30 feet, and then another set of piles, with a similar two foot gap, was driven at a similar angle against the current. Once both posts were smashed deep into the river, a large log two feet wide was placed directly into the slot formed by the gap. Then supporting posts were angled and tied to the pier on both sides. The Manderlys piloted the barge away, and minutes passed until the Northmen realized the structure was stable and sound.

Robb was too astonished to speak. The two sets of poles were kept apart by braces on the outside and the thick log in the middle. The angled pier held in place, and the force of the current actually locked the piles together. The bridge would rise eight feet above the Trident, so it would not be easy for the Freys to attack the structure with a barge.

Jon stepped out from the boat, ignoring the boisterous cheers from the Karstark and Umber men. The Smalljon ran about celebrating like a maniac, and taking a long and loud victory lap. Jon went back to the Command tent to consult the sketches of the bridge and speak to the boys to make sure more poles, rope, and nails would be ready for the days to come.

"Gods, Jon. Those poles stand. They are not falling down." Robb said. He expressed what many of his Honor guard thought.

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Of course they won't fall. This is construction, Robb - not destruction. But that is only one pier. The width of the river is five hundred feet. We will build a pier every twenty feet, so that will be twenty five piers. We are not finished either. The Forrester and Hornwood men will saw more logs to connect each pier and then we can lay sheets of wood, nailed together like planks on top, over logs as a road. I also plan to drive more piles on the downstream side as a buttress to break the force of the river. We can lash some timber, in the direction of the bridge, on both sides, to strengthen the connections as well." Jon mused.

"Maester Snow, what else can our men do?" Harrion Karstark asked respectfully.

"With a full day, we should be able to place down five or six piers, even with the extra work connecting the pilings. In four or five days, the bridge will be finished." he said. "Using the crane will be very tiring. I hope your men and the Umbers can take turns." Jon exited the tent, leaving behind a flabbergasted crowd. He was tired from the long two days.

* * *

Five days later, as the sun rose high in the sky, Robb Stark and the Northern Lords watched from the tent as the last double layered board was placed on top of a bed of logs on the far side of the river, finishing the road. The bridge was complete, 30 feet wide and 500 feet long, as impressive as the stone crossing of the Freys. Canoes, holding Manderlys, Glovers, and crannogmen, swarmed about the water, checking the poles and supports, and testing each pier. It had been a week since that fateful morning meeting, and Jon delivered the crossing in a day less than he asked.

The men working on the bridge came back to the near side of the Trident, tired but cheerful. The entire Northern host looked on with great anticipation. This was the moment everyone had waited for - to test the bridge, and see if it could bear the army's weight.

"Lord Stark, I would be happy to go first." Jon said. The wagons holding his equipment had been packed and loaded and the boys from Wintertown were ready to go. Before Robb could accede, Maege Mormont, dressed in furs and patched ring mail, and wielding her spiked mace, stepped forward.

"House Mormont requests the honor of crossing the Trident first." the She Bear said.

"But we don't know if it will hold." Jon said.

"You are Ned Stark's son. We trust him, and that means we trust you. The story of the bridge will be retold many times. House Mormont will be known as the ones who braved the crossing first to spit on the Freys." The She Bear said.

On that note, the men and women of House Mormont stepped forward, with Dacey on a black stallion, and Maege and her other daughters walking abreast. Jorelle and Lyra Mormont winked at Jon as they passed. The five hundred plus fighters in House Mormont marched over the Trident to raucous cheers. There was no quiver at all on the wooden structure, and bellows of pride came from both the Umbers and the Karstarks.

"The bridge has held." Robb declared.

"The Mormonts have few horse. I should cross to test wagons on the bridge." Jon said.

"We would march next." Robett Glover said. "We have horse, men and wagons. We trust the bridge as well." His elder brother, Heir to Deepwood Motte, nodded his agreement.

Robb agreed. Eight hundred Glover men and two hundred horse crossed, with Jon urging that they space out the horses to keep weight well distributed on the bridge. Again, the structure did not quiver and stood sturdy and strong. Jon crossed next and Robb honored his brother by riding by his side, the two dire wolves keeping them company. Jon's wagons, carrying siege machines, tools and equipment, followed next. Whispers of the Young Wolf and the White Wolf could be heard, much to Catelyn Stark's dismay.

"You have done a great thing, Jon." a delighted Robb said as they dismounted on the other side.

"The bridge is not perfect, Robb. A heavy storm could blow off planks. The Freys won't be able to knock out the piers but they could damage the support posts or the top. Ripping apart the deck would make the bridge unusable until it is fixed." Jon said.

"You are too hard on yourself. The Freys took fifty years to build a bridge over the Trident. You have done it in seven days." Robb crowed.

"The Freys are idiots. We are the Starks, and it was the combined efforts of the Northern army. Many good men made the work much easier." Jon said.

The two brothers sat in a comfortable silence, watching as the army marched over the river. Many knights saluted as they passed, and neither Jon nor Robb cared who was recognized. Only two thirds of the army passed before sundown, as Jon urged caution in the crossing. The rest of the troops could have marched at night, but without enemies nearby, Robb decided to post a watch on both river banks and wait for the dawn.

* * *

As night fell, Jon sat in the tent with many of House Stark's strongest supporters. After the events of the past week, even Lady Stark could not ban him from Robb's side. The She-Bear, the Greatjon, and Lord Cerwyn wanted to lavish praise on Jon but he deflected the credit to many helpers, a fact that Wylis and Wendel Manderly, crannogmen, Smalljon and the Karstark sons appreciated. Jon's mind had already moved past the bridge. He was far more focused on the planning for Riverrun and listened carefully as Robb explained to his commanders what he expected as they approached the ancestral Tully castle. Come the morning, the Northern Army would ride hard south to break the siege.

As Robb spoke about the rivers and terrain near the castle, a page from Flint's Finger entered with great trepidation. "Lord and Lady Stark, there are visitors."

Several weasel like faces waited outside the tent, their path barred by men of the mountain clans and Karstark soldiers. Jon saw the old man who had led the previous Frey delegation, Stevron Frey, and several grotesque figures, a fat fleshy man with small greedy eyes, a brawny man with a jutting jaw and huge muscles, an ugly man with a rat's tail beard, a weak chin and watery red eyes. If these were the Frey knights, Jon felt even more certain that fifteen thousand of them would not be sufficient to tie the Stark family in a betrothal.

Behind these men, there was a wiry figure with a black beard. He was young but escorting a group of Frey soldiers setting down a litter. The extremely old man on top was bald, his head spotted with age. He looked like a cross between a vulture and a weasel, with scrawny shoulders, skin dangling under a weak chin, a toothless mouth full of drool, and a hunched back. The only sign of his vitality were cloudy eyes that still retained a spark of raw cunning. Those ugly eyes looked at the bridge and Jon saw flashes of anger and greed.

"Walder Frey. I have never seen you outside the Twins." Catelyn Stark said.

"Lord Frey. Call me by my title, when you are next to my castle." Walder said.

"What do you want, Lord Frey? We have no need of your bridge." Robb said. There was no pretense of politeness and Robb did not offer salt or bread.

"But young pup, you could use my soldiers, and you will need my bridge when you return." Lord Frey said. Several lords and heirs reached for their weapons at the insult, and more guards surrounded the Frey knights.

"We have a bridge." Robb said coolly.

"But how will you defend it when you leave? Wood bridges do fall apart, unlike stone." Lord Frey said, an ugly smile spreading on his face.

"What do you want, Lord Frey?" Lady Stark asked, the anger barely disguised.

"I will not ask for your fool son's head. He will probably lose it soon enough. But your younger daughter in marriage, so you can use the crossing." Walder said.

Robb's face was a mask of suppressed rage. But before he could lash out at the Freys, Jon put a hand on his shoulder. The white wolf stood by his brother. "We don't need to defend the bridge." Jon said.

"Ehhh?" Lord Frey said. A similar confusion manifested on his children and grandchildren.

"Destroy the bridge if you can. But we will tell other Lords and their maesters how to build such a bridge. House Tully. House Blackwood. House Mooton. House Piper. The Seagards and the Vances. What will your bridge be worth when all the riverlords can cross the Trident?" Jon said.

"How dare you?" Lord Frey squeaked. The Freys looked at each other, and for the first time, the expression was fear and not stupidity.

"The Northern Army built the bridge in seven days. How long do you think the River Lords will take? Longer perhaps but they will send men and horses to defend their bridge. And no one will pay your toll again." Jon said.

"What do you want?" Lord Frey asked.

Jon nodded to his brother. Robb turned to the Frey men, his face proud and fierce as any King of Winter, his eyes full of disdain. "We ride to rescue your liege and my grandfather. You will supply me all your knights and men. They will swear loyalty to House Stark and serve under my commanders. We will use your bridge when we wish and pay no toll. There will be no marriages." Robb said.

"How dare you!" Lord Frey said.

"If you do not, I will sent plans of the bridge by raven to every house in a thousand miles. There will be so many bridges built that the Riverlands will be renamed The Hundred Bridges." Robb quipped. "If your men serve well, they will be rewarded just the same as mine. I will take a squire from the Twins. They can join my Battle Guard along with the heirs of the North. If your sons fight bravely, I will speak with my Lords about marriages for your daughters and grandsons. But nothing until they have proven themselves in battle." Robb finished.

Walder Frey's tongue, born bitter, had sharpened greatly with the years. He was an irascible man who enjoyed fondling young woman and firing barbed comments at anyone around. But faced with the destruction of his family fortune, he only stared hatefully at Robb Stark. He had expected to receive a rich toll but discovered instead that the wolves had sharp teeth.

"Very well, I accept." Frey said, the bile clear and present in his voice. Robb didn't care. Jon, however, watched Walder, his sons and grandsons, carefully.

* * *

Author's Note:

The bridge is based on Julius Caesar crossing the Rhine, not once but twice in 55 and 53 BC. Caesar built the first bridge in ten days. He had 40,000 men, so twice the army of the North, and more experienced engineers but the Rhine was 1000 feet wide and 30 feet deep! Plus, there were enemy Germans on the other side, so Caesar could not land men on the other side, and that may have slowed the Romans down. His full army crossed the river and spent 18 days before returning and destroying the bridge behind them. The second bridge was built in even less time. Both are considered masterpieces of engineering, and stunned the Germans.

Many of the details are rephrased from Book 4 of the Gallic Wars by Caesar, and that is exactly how the Romans built the bridge - double sets of 2 long poles connected with boards with a slot, hammered in at angles against and with the current, and connected by a large log. The Romans probably had a nicer bridge deck by using blankets of woven twigs [greater experience building roads] but the structure, itself, is exactly the same. And yes, in my mind, it would be considered a marvel to the Northern Lords, not as amazing as a dragon but still impressive.

Jon Snow's technological level should be considered the level of ancient Rome, if it lasted a thousand years into medieval England. He won't invent gunpowder or steam engines (although he might sketch drawings of the latter) but he is quite capable of watermills, siege machines, viaducts to irrigate fields. The flying buttress, the spinning wheel, the printing press were all invented in the Middle Ages as was the system of planting clover in a three field system to enrich the soil and enhance crop yields. Some of his ideas might be impractical - the hot air balloon would be difficult to steer, and some may fail because of the lack of materials but he is an avid tinkerer and a scientist. He won't invent everything but he may imagine many things.

If this sounds too high tech, remember that in the Age of Heros, Brandon the Builder constructed Winterfell, Storm's End and the Hightower. And the cities in ancient Valyria were undoubtedly impressive as well. You can decide yourself how much of that was magic and how much was giants using massive cranes and other equipment.


	5. Forks, Bridges and Plans

**Forks, Bridges and Plans**

That night, Jon dreamed of riding a dragon, soaring so high that the men scrambling in the fields below were as small as ants. The last dragon died one hundred fifty years ago, a sickly small creature, misshapen with withered wings in King's Landing. She had laid a clutch of eggs, and perished exhausted. None of the five eggs hatched and Aegon the III was named Dragonbane for the death, as maesters claimed he hated dragons for devouring his queen mother.

The maesters were obviously wrong. No Targaryen would ever hate the sole reason the Dynasty ever existed. Without the three dragons, Aegon the Great's conquest would have failed at Harrenhal for that monstrous castle, fully manned and stocked, was impervious to a siege. Archmaester Marwyn claimed that for a century, the Citadel plotted the extinction of the dragons. That was an easy boast to make when the great beasts had disappeared. If one day, the obsidian candles burned and magic returned to Westeros, he doubted that Marwyn would be so eager to repeat those words.

Jon woke the next morning and focused on the tasks for the day. There was much to do, and little time before they would ride. One lesson that Lord Stark had taught his heir was that in battle, mobility beat numbers. A faster attacker could defeat a slower one on the right terrain, even with a smaller force. Any competent commander would have crushed Robert's Rebellion stillborn at birth but the crown forces had been lethargic and slow to react. Robb learned that lesson well and Jon expected that before noon, the entire army would be assembled on the western bank of the Trident, ready to march.

He walked out of his tent to see men and horses continuing to march over the bridge. The merman of the Manderlys and the white ironwood tree of the Forresters had volunteered to bring the unused lumber, nails and rope to Jon's wagons although some of that had been transported by the crannogmen at night on rafts. There was still Boltons on the east side, and Jon saw also the two rusted long axes of House Dustin and the gold horse of House Ryswell. Those three houses were always together, and Jon pondered whether that held any hidden meaning.

"Bastard. Come to have more people kiss your ass?" Theon Greyjoy was not pleasant at any time of the day but even more intolerable in the morning.

"I certainly don't want you to kiss my ass." Jon said.

"They think you are so great. Brandon the Builder reborn." Theon's words slurred and Jon smelled the alcohol on his breath. The sun had been up less than a hour. Did Theon drink in the morning or had he simply not stopped last night?

"Brandon the Builder had far greater achievements than a bridge across the Trident." Jon said, thinking of the Wall three hundred miles long and seven hundred feet high made of solid ice. Still the Builder had not finished the Wall in seven days, even with the help of giants.

"It won't last, bastard. They will destroy your bridge as soon as we leave." Theon spat, pointing to the many human weasels sneaking around the camp.

Theon was an ass but not a total fool. The bridge threatened the entire purpose of the Twins, and Walder Frey certainly knew that. Jon wondered if Lord Frey would send an assassin or simply ask one of his thirty odd sons and bastards to stab him in the dark.

* * *

Jon met with the boys from Wintertown manning the wagons. Shayn and Denys oversaw the storage of extra lumber and nails, while Chett and Clydas gathered the full crew to prepare them for the trip. Chett marked travelling assignments on parchment. The boys could not read or write but they could spell their names and most had good number sense. The major equipment, including the crane, hammers and saws, had been disassembled and packed last night.

"Lord Snow." Shayn began as the other boys clustered around.

"None of that. I am no Lord, just Jon."

"Maester Snow." Shayn continued stubbornly. "Men from the Twins have been asking us questions this morning, about the wood, the tools, and how the bridge was built. They have been offering silver stags for answers."

Jon was not surprised. The Freys would have tried to ferret out any information possible. Better silver stags than copper stars or worse, knives and clubs. "And what did you tell them?"

"Nothing. We claim to know little, and be only green boys that saw wood, hammer nails, and carry water." Shayn crossed his eyes and opened his mouth to drool, sticking a pink tongue out to lick his left upper lip. He looked the very picture of one of the stupider Freys.

Jon burst out laughing. "And did they believe that trick?"

"Yes, Maester. The Frey man thought I was a lackwit. High borns think of small folk as beasts of burden to be bled or sheared." Shayn said.

"Nothing good comes from spending too much time with high borns - begging your pardon, ser." Denys added with a touch of shame.

"I am no highborn. My father and siblings are honorable but too often, you would be right." Jon said soberly. "Boys, be careful of the Freys. They offer stags now, but they may use bloodier means later. I would not have any of you harmed. Shayn has the right of it. If they think you know little, they will make their attempts on me, and not at you. Stay close together and watch for each other."

"But, ser - what about you?" Shayn asked. Jon was touched by their concern.

A silent white wolf appeared at Jon's side. "I will be careful, and I have Ghost."

* * *

The page from Flint's Finger summoned Jon to Robb's tent. Frey men roamed outside the tent, clamoring for command positions, and pestering the Greatjon, Lord Karstark and the Manderly brothers. Wylis looked embarrassed, Karstark annoyed, and the Greatjon ready to explode. Jon heard mention of betrothals, and fostering from the oily mouths of many Freys, as they eyed the many Northern Lords and Heirs with greed.

Robb dismissed a few members of his Honor Guard. A friendly knight, perhaps a man of twenty years and a few, wearing the two blue towers sigil remained, instructing a nervous lad how to prepare Lord Stark's armor and weapons. The two had a strong resemblance, and looked more human, and less weaselish than other Freys. The boy was older than Robb, but appeared young and anxious to please.

"Jon, this is Ser Perwyn Frey and his brother Olyvar. Lady Stark has chosen Olyvar as my squire." Robb said.

"Maester Snow." Perwyn said. "I have heard that you built the bridge across the river." His younger brother looked at him with awe.

"I am no Maester, merely an acolyte. I have not yet forged my links" Jon said.

"Our third brother, Williamen, just finished his studies at the Citadel. He spoke of a young Northern boy who excelled at construction and smithing, even more so than the Archmaester of Iron." Perwyn said.

Jon snorted. "Archmaester Norren? He is wrong on the correct process to forge steel. Your pardon, Ser. I do not remember meeting your brother." Jon said.

"He was appointed to Longbow Hall in the Vale this year." Perwyn said.

"Then he must have done well at the Citadel. House Hunter is well respected." Jon said.

"Ser, I would have time alone with my brother." Robb said. The two Freys hastened to leave, although the younger boy looked back with open curiosity.

* * *

When they left, Robb sighed and sat down. He poured water for his brother. "Gods, we are swimming in Freys. They are everywhere, complaining about this, demanding that. A dozen Freys asked for their sons to be squires. Hosteen Frey says he should lead my Battle Guard, as the strongest fighter. Ryman Frey tells me his father Stevron Frey is slow and stupid and that I should look to him for advice. I doubt even four thousand swords are worth this trouble."

Jon chuckled. "You need them, Robb. We cannot have four thousand swords at our back."

"Aye." Robb hesitated. "They do not like your bridge, Jon. Lothar Frey says the wooden bridge should be theirs by rights because the timber comes from Frey lands."

"A clever argument. I do not like them either." Jon said. "Is something wrong, Robb? You look concerned about things other than the Freys."

"You and Arya could always read my mood. But you look troubled as well." Robb said.

"Aye, a bit. I saw Freys sneaking around the river this morning. They asked the boys from Winter Town questions." Jon admitted. "No doubt they want to destroy the bridge."

"And how difficult would that task be?"

Jon's forehead scrunched a bit. "It depends on what you mean by destruction. Knocking down the piers and posts would be hard. They are strongly locked together. But tearing apart the bridge road could be done. If you removed a single span, the bridge could not be used by men and horses although it would still stand." Jon said.

Robb sighed as he stroked Grey Wind's back. The dire wolf's amber eyes watched the tent flap, guarding his master. In contrast, Ghost stood in the shadows, ready to spring from the side. "You are right. The Freys are not the only source of my troubles. It is Lady Stark. She wishes to know my plans for battle."

"And?" Jon asked.

"I do not need to tell her." Robb snapped. "She may be my lady mother but she wishes to guide me on who to send and where. If I am to be Lord of Winterfell, I cannot have my mother planning my battles. A Stark must lead their men, not hide behind skirts."

Jon thought Lady Stark had good intentions but bad results. "She merely cares for you. But you should also heed advice on your bannermen. You need to understand their abilities and motivations - just as they need to understand your plans."

"So must I tell them of my strategies?" Robb asked.

"Not all of it, but men must know enough so they can follow your orders. The battle field is a strange place. Your commanders may be injured or surprised. The Lords must have confidence to follow your plans and know when to attack and to defend." Jon said.

Robb took out the map of the Riverlands. The three forks of the Trident were drawn clearly and all the major castles marked. Robb had red and black counters to represent the Lannister and the Stark forces. He put black counters at the Twins, the north part of the Green Fork.

"Jaime Lannister and his men are at Riverrun, fifteen thousand and growing according to the raven. Tywin Lannister is on the other side of the Trident, to the East with a much larger army. If he goes south to the Ruby Ford, he can go west and meet with the Kingslayer. We can not defeat both armies." Robb said.

Jon nodded. That certainly made sense. Jaime had won the first two battles of the War at Golden Tooth and near Riverrun but Tywin Lannister, as the Old Lion, would have the stronger force and more experienced captains.

"I mean to divide our forces at the Green Fork. I will ride to ambush Jaime Lannister but I will send men to lure Tywin Lannister north. The further Tywin goes toward the Twins, the harder it will be for him to reinforce Jaime. The Lannisters do not know we have the secured the Crossing." Robb said.

"How do you plan to lure Tywin North? How many men and who will lead?" Jon asked.

"I plan to leave all of the infantry with Roose Bolton. He is experienced and cautious." Robb said

"But he will have no cavalry?" Jon asked.

"Aye - I will need all the horses I can get." Robb said.

"I do not like it, Robb. Your plan to lure the Lannister force north is clever, but Roose Bolton, even with every one of our foot soldiers, cannot defeat Tywin. The Lannisters have many knights and heavy cavalry. What if they manage to flank the army?" Jon said

"I need to divert Tywin. Even if I have to sacrifice men, it is needed to save Riverrun. It is not just my lady mother's family. We need a base and the Tully lands are rich."

"But you do not need all of your troops. And you cannot afford to lose so many. You merely need enough to tempt Tywin into a chase. And you have something that the Lannisters do not know about." Jon said. He placed a stick of wood onto the Green Fork of the Trident.

"But the bridge will hard to defend, Jon." Robb said. "Even against the Freys."

Jon picked up the stick and snapped it into two. "Who said anything about defending it?"

Robb smiled as he immediately grasped his brother's suggestion. Against a larger force, an attacker needed to be bold and clever. This trick might work, but more details were needed. Robb would have to select who would spring the trap. Jon left his brother alone to plan while he examined the bridge. Like Robb, he would ask only his most trusted people.

* * *

Lord Rickard Karstark reddened when denied entrance by the guards. Harrion, Torrhen, and Eddard stopped, not certain whether they should cross the threshold.

"I will not stand for this. These are my sons." Karstark yelled, loud enough to attract the attention of Lord Bolton, the Greatjon and the She-bear.

"Lord Karstark, I have an important mission for only the three." Robb said sternly. "Remember the words of your vow. The Stark family will not ask any service that would bring dishonor on our men. I have chosen them because I believe them capable of executing this task."

Lord Karstark grumbled and backed down while his sons entered the tent with Harrion in the lead, sitting down at Robb's table which displayed the Riverlands map. The Karstarks had the same dark brown hair and strong features of their lord father but the three were quite different, Jon thought. Harrion was proud and fierce, Eddard staunch and resolute. The middle brother was quiet and formal.

Robb offered cups of ale and Harrion drank his in one large gulp. "I have a very important task but I need a question answered. Who among you is least reckless, and most likely to retreat?" Robb said.

Harrion stood up abruptly, and Eddard put a hand on his brother to stop any confrontation. "Is this a jape, Lord Stark?" the heir to Karhold snarled.

"Sit down, my Lord." Robb said and Grey Wind bared his teeth. "I need to know - which of you three would keep his wits best if outnumbered and can handle a retreat?"

"That would be Torrhen." Eddard said. "He is the calmest of us three, which is why our sister likes him the best." The second brother did not dispute that, and stared stony eyed at Robb.

Robb placed two red counters for Jaime at Riverrun but five for Tywin midway between the Twins and Harroway. "Tywin Lannister is to the east of the Trident. If he goes south of Harroway, he can follow the Red Fork to Riverrun. I need men to harry his forces and draw him north. But make no mistake, you cannot win a battle against Tywin. You can only delay him. You need to attack but be able to retreat without much loss of life."

Torrhen nodded but his older brother was still angry. 'You mean to use my brother as a rabbit to bait a lion. Where is the honor in that?" Harrion said.

"Ah, this is the interesting part. Jon, please inform them of the trap." Robb said.

"It is your plan, Lord Stark. I may have come up with the seed, but you developed and improved the idea." Jon said.

"I want your force to retreat to the bridge. And then after a few thousand Lannister men cross, we destroy the bridge, trapping them on the western bank." Robb placed his hand on the map at the point of the crossing. One red counter was separated from the Lannister forces.

"But can the bridge be so easily destroyed?" a surprised Eddard asked.

"Not destroyed, but one span could be. Each span is made of a dozen logs set east to west with planks on top. But a strong man underneath could sweep the logs and planks to the side. With the help of the crannogman, I have tied ropes and hooks to the bottom of one stretch closer to the Western side. With the Manderly boat, a few men with poles and axes could make the bridge unusable in a matter of minutes."Jon said.

"So the span would drop out, and there would be a twenty foot hole in the bridge." Robb smiled.

"And we would have two thousand Lannister cunts trapped." Harrion said. "With the other parts of their army unable to help and only watching like an eunuch in a brothel."

"I suspect it would be their cavalry. They would be the fastest in pursuit. But the cavalry would have nowhere to go, and their backs to the river." Robb said.

"Even better, we could force them back on the bridge. We could use pikes to drive the horses back, and they would be easy to kill in the water." Torrhen said. "The knights would drown in their armor."

"Don't let too many Lannisters over. Certainly not more than two thousand. Most of the force, including your father and his cavalry, will march for Riverrun. But the Manderly boat and the crannogmen will stay to break the bridge with one of Jon's Winter Town crew. I can give you some Mountain clans, some Flints and levies from Winterfell." Robb cautioned.

"Why us, Lord Stark? Why not a more experienced Lord?" Torrhen asked shrewdly.

"I want them to think you are green and foolish, easy prey. The Lannisters might be more wary around the flayed man of Lord Bolton. If they know you are coming, they will be eager to chase you." Robb said.

"If they know….. You think there may be spies who might tell the Lannisters. Or even Lords who will complain that young boys received a command, and the word will spread in the camp." Eddard said.

"Perhaps. We are surrounded by Freys. One of the Walder's sons is married to Tywin Lannister's sister. That's why this plan stays private, even from your father. And why the one setting the trap must not take any chances and pretend to retreat." Robb said. "Word might spread to the Lannisters by spies, outriders, merchants or small folk. I want them to believe that Robb Stark is a green boy who sent hotheaded fools with a motley crew of unprepared Northerners. They will think you easy prey until they pass the bridge."

"Hah! Even the Northern Lords will question your plan. And if the Lannister scouts see such a small force, they will send their cavalry to chase. But when the bridge falls, Karstark men will crush the Lannister forces." Harrion laughed. "My Lord, let me ask a favor. Allow me to stay here and help Torrhen. He will be lead them to the trap but I will spring it. I will rip out the logs and tear away the floor. And then the river will run red with Lannister blood."

"Aye, but use the crannogmen, the mountain men and the Flints wisely. I have ordered Ser Helman Tallhart to garrison the Twins with 200 archers and 200 swordsmen. Harrion, let him know the plans, but make certain that no one overhears. It must be a surprise." Robb said.

"The crannogman are aware - Peat and Boggs. They have helped trap the bridge, and I will leave Shayn here. He is a clever lad and placed the hooks on the bottom of the span. With a long pole, you can rip the logs away into the Trident. Maturin Manderly would be the best to pilot the boat." Jon said.

"The rest of the Northern army will march today. I will take the Freys but I will order a few to stay behind to gather more men and assist Tallhart. Involve them near the end." Robb said.

"Lord Stark, I would be happy to lead the force and I swear to watch over the men you entrust to me. But I worry about the Freys. Can we trust them? What if they betray us or damage the bridge before I return?" Torrhen asked.

"I will kill those lying cunts if they betray us." Harrion raged. The oldest Karstark was a good fighter but hot-headed. Jon was glad that Torrhen would lead the troops on the eastern front.

"I think we could rely on Perwyn Frey. Olyvar, his brother, is Robb's squire so he would not betray us. Plus, he seems a decent fellow, unlike his brothers. If Robb asked him to follow your orders, he may be a useful ally at the Twins." Jon said.

"Lady Catelyn is in negotiations with Lothar Frey. She has told him that so long as the army can cross at the Twins with no toll, we would let them have the wooden bridge when our garrison leaves. We never said it would be usable though." Robb smirked.

The three Karstarks boys laughed uproariously, so loud that House Stark guards peeked through the tent flaps to make certain everything was fine. Harrion and Torrhen promised that they would not tell their father the full plans but only that the mission was important and would bring great glory to the Karstark name. The two swore that Karstark men would not be rash in executing the trap.

"Any last concerns, Lord Stark or Maester Snow?" Harrion said, as they were leaving the tent.

"Aye. Be careful with the lives of the men. We have twenty thousand but the Lannister army is larger and they can be reinforced from the West. Pretend to attack but your goal is to lure them to us. Be cautious until the bridge is broken. Then you can smash the lion with all your might." Robb said.

Jon hesitated a bit, unused to nobles asking him for advice. "I would try to take as many prisoners as possible. If we can capture Lords and knights, it would enhance your glory and give us leverage to ransom our Father. Imagine your fame if you capture the Old Lion. The North would remember your names in song forever."

* * *

The Karstark heir and his two brothers left the tent, looking as if ready to march in a triumph in King's Landing. Harrion's excitement was obvious in his broad open face and Torrhen walked with a spring in his step. They would make poor spies but Jon understood and sympathized with their reaction. The three boys were older than Robb and Jon but had not been blooded in a war. Harrion had been too young when the banners were called for the Greyjoy Rebellion. The North respected strength in arms, and glory in battle would let the heir of Karhold escape his father's large shadow.

"They will not capture Tywin Lannister with a broken bridge. He is too cunning to fall for such a trick." Robb said.

"Of course, but I think Torrhen will keep his head. Even defeating a thousand Lannisters would be a victory. Bringing down the head lion will not be easy, but he has many retainers. They may be more eager and less wary. Should I inform the Manderlys and the crannogmen now?" Jon asked.

"What did you tell me about raising a banner? Harrion and Torrhen have their orders. Let them deal with the eastern side of the Fork. We need to make plans to fight the Kingslayer. We need to destroy the smaller Lannister host before we can face the larger one." Robb said.

"What do we know of the siege at Riverrun? How many Rivermen did the Kingslayer face? And how did he win so easily?" Jon asked.

Robb sighed. "Edmure Tully is well meaning but not well planned. He wanted to protect his vassals. So he sent forces west to guard the passes against the Westermen. He sent men to the South to protect Stony Sept and Acorn Hall and cavalry to the east to search for the Mountain. Every single group was outnumbered and crushed by the Kingslayer, the Mountain, and Tywin's host. When he was about to march from Riverrun, the Kingslayer caught him under the walls of the castle and captured him and part of the Tully forces."

"But surely with Riverrun as a base, he had enough troops to fight fifteen thousand men to a draw. With fresh men and supplies, Father could hold Winterfell with a few thousand against a force of fifty thousand. How did he lose under the walls of Riverrun?" Jon asked.

"What do you know about the Riverlands and House Tully?" Rob said.

Jon blinked. "What everybody else does. The Tullys have been Lords Paramount since Aegon's Conquest. The Riverlands lack strong natural borders, like the Neck or the Mountains of the Vale or the deserts of Dorne, so many wars and great battles have been fought there, even duels between dragons. There are many houses with a storied past - the Blackwoods and the Darrys."

"And that is part of the problem. On this, I actually know more than you. Now, I am the Maester and you are the student." Robb said in a pompous voice.

Jon broke out in a laugh. "Alright, Maester Robb. Tell me what I must know."

"The Tullys are Lord Paramounts but their hold is weaker than most. There are old and bitter rivalries and many houses - the Whents, the Mallisters, the Mootons - believe with good reason that their heritage and history are greater than the Tullys. In Robert's Rebellion, House Mooton, Darry and Ryger sided with the dragons against my grandfather's orders. And the Tullys are not military men. They have never needed to be. Riverrun can be held with a small garrison and the Tullys have long used marriages to curry influence. Hoster Tully kept his power by marrying his daughters to the North and to the Vale. House Tully is not like House Stark. The Starks have fought wars for a thousand years at the front lines. We breathe battle. It is in our blood, and what we train for all our lives. House Tully does not." Robb said.

"But surely, even if the Tullys don't have many men, their vassals must. The Riverlands have a great many people and much wealth." Jon said.

"Perhaps, but their Lords are divided and quarrelsome. The Riverlands should command as many men as the North, but the truth is their muster is much lower. They rarely unite, even against an obvious enemy like the Lannisters. Look at the Freys. They did nothing even while their liege lord is besieged. The forces of the Riverlands are scattered and the Tullys have never been able to coordinate them well." Robb said.

"I see." Jon thought for a bit before turning to his brother with a smile. "This is simply a game of cyvasse."

"How so?" Robb asked, perplexed.

Jon took out his simple set and scattered white troops on the edges of the board. "Your uncle, Edmure, has sufficient forces but instead of defending the king, his pieces are strewn on all sides of the Riverlands - the Western pass, the crossroads and the south." Jon clustered the black troops in the center. "The Kingslayer marshalled his army to attack in Riverrun, and defeated the Tullys. But the other white pieces are not destroyed. There are still Rivermen out there and we need to bring them together." Jon moved the white pieces inward - the heavy and light horse, the elephants, the trebuchet and the catapult. Spearmen and crossbowmen supported the lines of attack. "We can trap the Kingslayer. We need to break his formation and lure him out."

"Aye, but to do so, we need surprise. If the Kingslayer detects our presence, he will send a raven to his Lord Father. Then the Lannisters will have more pieces on the board. We can defeat an army of the same number, but not one two to three times larger. That is why we need to strike hard and fast before they discover that we have crossed the ford." Robb said.

"It is a long distance to Riverrun." Jon said.

"Two hundred miles, and the roads are not good. We will be riding through meadows and forests. Our fastest horsemen could do that in two days." Robb said.

"But the infantry will take much longer. Even at a forced march, it would take over a week." Jon cautioned.

"The first attack must be cavalry, Jon. We need surprise. We cannot wait until the Kingslayer sets his lines. Or even worse, send a raven." Robb insisted.

Jon nodded. He had no doubt about Robb's tactical abilities or instinctive grasp of the battle field. But that certainly did not mean the problem was easily solved. Robb would have to leave the infantry behind and Jon thought with the pang, the siege machines. Wagons could not possibly travel that quickly. And with only the cavalry, the North would be out numbered in a pitched battle. Jon wondered if there were Rivermen they could rally swiftly to their cause. After their defeats though, they would either be sulking by their castles or dispersed into the winds. "What do you need me to do, Robb?" Jon asked.

That question would have to wait. Catelyn Stark rushed into the tent, urgency written on her face. She was in such a hurry that she could not even bother to spare a look of disgust for Jon.

"Robb, you must come out." Lady Stark said.

Robb stood up, and beckoned Jon to follow him. There outside the tent, a tall and lean man, dressed in grey ringmail over blackened leather, handed the reins of a grey war horse to Olyvar Frey. The man had grey hair, and his handsome features were craggy and worn, from years of exposure riding outside to guard the Mountains of the Moon. He held a greatsword in the mailed glove of his left hand, and the haggard but clean shaven face broke into a small smile when he saw Catelyn Stark. But it was the sigil that told Jon the identity of the guest.

The man took off a blue and red cloak, Tully colors, to reveal his brown surcoat, dirty from the road. There, on his chest, a black trout leapt on a field of blue and mud red. Brynden Tully, the BlackFish, stood before them.


	6. Whispering Wood

**Whispering Wood**

The tent was so full that the heirs had difficulty squeezing in as the news of Ser Brynden Tully's appearance spread through the camp. All the Lords of the North, great and small, assembled to find out more. Jon listened to the whispers and surprised murmurs that the Blackfish was not directing the siege at Riverrun. Of course, he wasn't, Jon thought. His leather armor was dusty from the road but showed no rips, notches and tears from battle.

Catelyn Stark wished her uncle to be placed next to her son. That fell on deaf ears as Stevron, Lord Frey's heir, commandeered the prize seat to the left and Robb insisted that Jon deserved to sit at the right, as a trusted advisor. Jon ignored the glares from Lady Stark. The price for her anger might be high after the war when he tried to return to Winterfell with his siblings but that seemed a distant concern.

"What news from the Vale or Riverrun, Blackfish?" Lord Karstark boomed. That question should have been asked by Robb, but his brother ignored the slight.

"No news that is good. When Lady Stark left the Eyrie, I asked Lady Arryn for the Knights of the Vale. She refused and said the knights were needed to defend against Lannisters. I spoke then to the Lords of the Vale, many who remember Ned Stark well and believe the charges against him to be false. They would have sent their household guards and heirs - Bronze Yohn Royce, Lord Redfort and Lady Waynwood pledged five thousand men but Lady Arryn forbade any to leave by the Bloody Gate. So I resigned and rode north." Brynden said.

"Uncle, Have you heard anything of Riverrun?" Robb said.

"Not besides news that it is besieged by Jaime Lannister and that Edmure Tully has been taken hostage. Lannister men control the river road and threaten the high road. Even the kingsroad swarms with lions. Only a large force of seasoned and well armed men could pass safely, without being torn apart by sellswords and scouts in the Lannister's service. I planned to go to Moat Cailin but crossed when I saw the wooden bridge." Brynden said.

"So the Blackfish leads no men at all." Ryman Frey sneered. Brynden Tully stared at the corpulent knight, second in line to the Crossing, and ignored snickers from the other Freys.

"Why would my sister refuse to help?" Catelyn asked.

The Blackfish shrugged. "Many ravens flew back and forth between the Eyrie and King's Landing before I left. Petyr Baelish has great influence over Lady Arryn. He is no friend of Ned Stark."

In the downcast reaction in the tent, few people observed the look of anguish on Catelyn Stark's face. Jon remembered that Baelish had claimed the valyrian steel dagger belonged to Tyrion Lannister. What other lies had this Baelish told and why? The mood of the Lords was greatly soured by Lady Arryn's intransigence, an entirely justified reaction. The Vale could raise twenty five thousand men, brave warriors steeped in honor and chivalry, who had proven their worth in the Rebellion. Knights from the Vale would threaten Tywin Lannister on the East, forcing the lions to retreat south to Duskendale or King's Landing. Wheat, corn and barley were grown in the Vale and while not as fertile as the Reach, that bounty of grain and the port of Gulltown could provide reliable supply lines for the Northern army.

"Thank you for the news, ser." Robb said. His face and manner betrayed no concerns or worries. A good ruler must inspire his men, and Robb treated the setback as something to be overcome and not feared. Other Lords in the tent did not share that even temperament and the Freys were loudest in their muttering.

"Lord Stark, I have come to pledge my sword to you." Brynden said.

"And I accept it, ser. House Stark is glad for your loyalty." Robb said. There was no space in the tent to kneel but they exchanged the standard oath of fealty. "Lead our men well."

"Men? What men?" Ryman japed. "I see one man. The Blackfish leads only himself, and he is old."

"Ryman, you couldn't lead a shit to a chamber pot." The Blackfish snapped. Fat Ryman Frey quivered but a few of the other Frey knights glared back, and slipped fingers on their blades. The Blackfish did not move, but other men in the North, veterans of past battles, did and Jon had no doubt who the North would support in any clash.

"Uncle, what role did you serve in past wars?" Robb asked, ignoring the hostile looks.

"I was an outrider for my brother, Hoster Tully, against the NinePenny Kings in the Stepstones. Ser Gerold Hightower sent me to track Maelys the Monstrous and the Ebon Prince back to their hideout. Maelys chased our scouts into a trap and Barristan the Bold and the Kingsguard finished the Pretender. I fought for Lord Arryn in both Robert's Rebellion and against the Greyjoys at Pyke." Brynden said.

The Blackfish glossed over the true story. Ser Barristan Selmy was not yet a member of the Kingsguard when he cut through the Golden Company to slay Maelys in single combat. The Blackfish was a veteran of dozens of battles, and saved Hoster Tully's life from Jon Connington in the Battle of the Bells. A lesser man would have allowed his brother to be slain, and become regent over Riverrun. The Blackfish's valor at the Battle of the Trident was praised in song, as he wounded Prince Lewyn Martell and stopped Dornish forces from crossing the river. Most fools believed that Ruby Ford was single combat between the Dragon prince and the Demon of the Trident but had the seven Kingsguard defended their prince, the songs would be far different, Jon thought.

"Ser Brynden, I would ask you to serve again as an outrider. I will give you two hundred horse, the fastest riders in the host. You would be charged with shooting down ravens and slaying Lannister scouts as we make our way South." Robb said.

"I will not serve under the Blackfish." Ryman Frey declared.

"Enough, Ser Ryman. The Freys are pledged to House Stark. My uncle will have the fastest light horse in the army." Robb said.

"Ryman, you are fat and slow, and I would take a blind boy without a horse over you. I cannot imagine a worst scout, unless I wished to tell our location to the Kingslayer." Brynden retorted.

"My Lords, we march for Riverrun. Ser Brynden will lead the outriders to give us intelligence. I will ride with my guard and the rest of the cavalry. The infantry and supply train will follow last, but Torrhen and Harrion Karstark will keep three thousand men to range on the eastern side of the Green Fork." Robb spoke no further about that mission despite the curiosity of many Northern lords and the grumbling of Rickard Karstark.

"Will we have enough men to face Jaime Lannister?" a worried Stevron Frey asked. The heir to the Crossing clearly did not want to battle the Lannisters without the full army.

"Lord Stark, if you ride south with the cavalry, it will take the men a long time to follow. The roads are poor between here and Riverrun. You will open up a large gap between your forces, and it will take many days to close." Roose Bolton said in a low voice. "It will be difficult to defeat the Lannisters with cavalry alone."

"Jaime Lannister is the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. His forces went through the Tullys like an axe through melted butter." Ryman Frey said. "You cannot gamble the lives of our horse without reinforcements. We need more Rivermen. Send a raven to the Blackwoods or the Brackens. Even the useless Pipers and Vances would help."

Jon had no doubt the Lannisters were watching both houses carefully. A raven to the Blackwoods might get through, but the Brackens were situated south of the river road. Any half competent commander would intercept a raven to Stone Hedge, and Jon wondered if the Brackens and Blackwoods were fighting on the same side, given their long and bloody feud.

"The Kingslayer is like everyone else. The Lannisters have heavier and prettier armor - that does not make them unbeatable." the Blackfish said.

"My nephew, Cleos Frey, says that Jaime Lannister has not been defeated for twenty years. He rides with him, and claims he is truly a lion in battle." Ryman said.

"And how would that little shit know? Jaime Lannister never fought in the Battle of the Trident, except for breaking his oath. He was guarding King's Landing during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Stabbing his sister is no great achievement. Did he fuck your nephew too?" the Blackfish asked.

"My Lords, I have decided our orders. The cavalry rides for Riverrun and the infantry follows. Lord Karstark and Lord Bolton will take charge of the infantry march." Robb said. "Jon, will you be able to bring your crew and machines south?"

"The boys are young and small. They could travel on the back of a horsemen. But the wagons and equipment require wagons. We could take a few tools, shovels and saws, but the trebuchets and ballista will be late to any battles." Jon said.

"Men cannot fight with a fool behind them in the saddle. What do we need half wits for? Better to leave them behind." Ryman said. Jon wondered the Frey knight had been truly deceived or merely wanted to put the boys to the question. Jon was not alone in his desire to defend the Winter town crew. The Northmen were proud of their bridge, and the Umbers and the Karstarks looked less than pleased with this counsel. Ryman Frey never had any counsel in war that was well received. At least, his father Stevron had the wisdom to be quiet rather than be confirmed as a fool.

"We ride today. I understand your concerns, Lord Bolton but we are west of the Green Fork, and the Lannisters will be unable to cross the Trident and drive a wedge between the horse and the men. I am more concerned about Lannisters to the South than to the East. Jon has two dozen boys. I would ask my honor guard to find space for them, if not on their own horse - than to have two boys ride on a single supply horse." Robb said.

The crowd dispersed, and Hosteen Frey, the brawniest and quite stupid looking Frey knight, bragged to all that he would kill Jaime Lannister in single combat. Hosteen might be braver than most but Jon doubted that any Lannisters would lose any sleep over that boast. The Kingsguard was famed for their martial prowess and Jaime was reputed to be either second or first sword with Barristan Selmy in skill. The Kingslayer was incredibly quick and even several men working together would find him difficult to defeat. Jon shook off those thoughts, and watched the tent empty. He had to speak with Robb.

* * *

Robb and Jon waited outside their tent for Olyvar Frey to return with Brynden Tully. Many horsemen volunteered to join the outriders and the Blackfish was screening the men, and examining the horse. Skill at archery and quickness were prized for scouts, and Jon was not surprised to hear the Umber heir curse when he failed the inspection. The Smalljon was a doughty warrior but speed and stealth was not his specialty. The Smalljon's horse was slightly larger than a moose.

Brynden Tully and Catelyn Stark walked over, and Olyvar poured cups of water to drink. The Blackfish looked to Robb's right, and while there was suspicion, Jon did not detect any disdain. That was better than he could say for Lady Stark.

"Uncle, this is Jon Snow." Robb said.

"The maester who built the bridge. Quite a remarkable achievement but I doubt the Freys will think that." Brynden said dryly.

"Jon and I have spoken and we have the same mind here. What can you tell us about the Kingslayer?" Robb asked.

"He was a promising knight, before he broke his oath. But you know that already." Brynden said.

"Ser Tully, what of your personal dealings with Jaime Lannister. Robb says you have met him before." Jon said.

"Aye, when he was squire to Lord Crakehall, his father considered a betrothal to Lysa Tully and sent him to Riverrun for a fortnight. He was ten and four and didn't say more than five words to Lysa. He hounded me for stories about the Nine Penny Kings and skirmishes against the Golden Company and House Blackfyre. Of course, House Blackfyre was just one man, and Maelys was a monster, like what the kingslayer has become." Brynden said.

"And have you met him since, uncle?" Robb asked.

"Aye, I have had the misfortune to see him again a few times. I ignored him, and refused his requests to spar or speak. Why should I? He stabbed his king in the back, and now he fucks his sister, just like the Mad King." Brynden spat.

"And how would Jaime Lannister react if he knew you were near Riverrun?" Jon asked.

"The cunt would love to capture me. He would like nothing better than to see me bend the knee, and in my own Tully lands, no less." the Blackfish said.

Jon saw the same understanding in his brother's eyes. Such a reaction would be an immense help and anything that clouded the Kingslayer's judgement worked in their favor. Lady Stark had not understood her son's purpose, but after a half a minute, the Blackfish realized what Robb and the bastard brother meant but did not say.

"You want me to lure the Kingslayer out - into a trap." Brynden said.

"If the riders carried a banner, with the Blackfish as a sigil, Jaime Lannister would think you rallied a few hundred Tully men behind you. He would not know it was the Northern army, and also think correctly that the Knights of the Vale could not cross the Riverlands without alerting Lord Tywin. He would believe you to have a small force and ride forth to capture you personally. We could ambush him then." Jon said.

"You will not risk my uncle's life." Catelyn Stark said. Her tongue omitted the word bastard but her eyes did not.

"No war is without risk and I have lived too long to worry about dying." The Blackfish said. "It is a good plan, and I know a place where an ambush can be set. Only a few miles from Raventree Hall, there is a forested valley with no name. It is quiet there, with little game or even birds."

"Olyvar, can you speak to your brother in secret? Can we make a banner with Tully red and blue, and a black trout? I would have it finished before noon." Robb asked his squire.

"My sister, Roslin, is a skilled seamstress. She can sew that banner quickly, my Lord." Olyvar said before Robb dismissed him to search out Perwyn and Roslin.

The Blackfish thought more about the plan as Lady Stark stewed in silence. She stared away, unhappy with both her son and the bastard. "Lord Stark, you only have four thousand horse, and a thousand are Frey cunts who thinks the sun shines out of the Kingslayer's ass. The Westermen have heavy cavalry and their knights and horse both wear mail and plate. If they mount a charge, they could sweep you away and escape the valley." The Blackfish said.

For Robb and Jon, that had been a real worry. Northern cavalry fought as bravely as any anointed knight, but smaller coursers and sturdy garrons handled the cold better. The mighty destriers - tall, strong and high spirited beasts - foundered in the snow, and required far more feed. Few Northern houses wore any barding but the Southern war horse was used to tournament plate mail, which only the gold mines of the Lannisters could easily afford.

"My brother and I would have to see the valley, Ser Brynden. We need to know more before we can spring our trap. But the banner will be the key, and if we can take Jaime Lannister, his troops will be easier prey." Robb said.

"Your plan has promise. In war, forcing your opponent to make a wrong move is a good step." The Blackfish said, with a look of approval at both the Young Wolf and the bastard.

"Our plan is not complete. It will be better with more thought, and better still when we understand the Lannister forces and the terrain. And when we can truly prepare." Robb said. A pretty girl with white skin, brown hair and a small delicate face marred slightly by a gap in her teeth entered with Olyvar but both Robb and Jon had more pressing issues and left the tent in different directions to deal with those concerns.

* * *

Jon checked again with the Winter town boys. They had finished packing the wagons early, and many yawned, having worked long through the night to disassemble the siege machines, oil the wagon wheels, and collect as many of the scarce nails that could be reused. Shayn was embedded with the crannogmen, and Jon hoped the small size of the Neck dwellers would protect the boy from scrutiny. He did not want Harrion Karstark to gut a Frey on Shayn's behalf.

Chett, Clydas and Denys had informed the other boys about Robb's orders to march. Chett, as his second in command, would ride with Jon but Clydas and Denys had a lively feud over who would ride with Dacey Mormont. Jon thought the two boys would be less eager when they saw her sharp spiked mace. Dacey was kind but like the entire Mormont clan, would not allow anyone to take liberties. Bear Island had taught that lesson to wildling raiders and Iron Islanders many times, and Dacey was a fearsome fighter.

"We can't carry much but each of you have a small pack for nails and knives. I would strap a tool to your back - a shovel, a saw or a hammer." Jon said.

"Ser, a boy could also bring a wheel wrapped in sheepskin. You never know when extra wheels would be needed." Clydas said to many nods.

"The iron wood could be carried as well. It is strong and light. I never heard of ironwood trees to the South." Denys added.

"Right, and I plan to carry this." Jon took out from his trunk the light crossbow with a steel winch. He had built the weapon in the Reach but on the trip south of Winterfell, he had designed special bolts. He handed over the crossbow to eager scrutiny and wide eyes, but it was the ammunition that was his secret pride. After the hubbub died down, Jon addressed the Wintertown crew again. "Boys, I do not want you to fight. Let the soldiers deal with any Lannister men. Do not be a hero and die - you are too valuable for that."

"But Maester Snow, why then do you need a crossbow?" Chett asked.

"I will stay by my brother's side. Robb's life is a key to our victory. And it is no regular crossbow." Jon smiled.

* * *

They arrived at the forested valley on late morning of the third day. Robb left most of the cavalry behind to drink their fill in the clear waters of the Blue Fork. He wanted his men to be well rested before any battle. They passed Oldstones yesterday, the ruined castle raised by the Kings of the River and the Hills. Tristifer Mudd IV won ninety nine battles and lost the last, but that final battle broke the First Men south of the neck. The Riverlands submitted to the Andal Invasion afterwards, leaving only a few barrows and haunted memories.

Robb's personal guard had bought the crew and the Winter Town boys dismounted to survey the woods. Only a few other Lords had come - Lady Mormont, the Greatjon, and Jason Mallister, the fierce and handsome ruler of Seagard. The silver eagles marched to Riverrun only after the Frey army ride south. House Mallister had much experience with Walder Frey and none of it good. Lord Mallister and his heir Patrek rode as far away as possible from Frey knights and Jon realized the rivalries of the Riverlands were bitter indeed. In the North, such hatred led to blood feuds so hot, one family would be torn out root and stem. In the South, enmity simmered underneath for decades. Jon wondered which was better.

Jon descended from his horse and walked down the valley, Ghost ambling at his side. He heard in the background, Brynden Tully briefing Robb Stark on intelligence gathered in the last day and the mention of Karyl Vance and Marq Piper. It seemed the Blackfish was not the only Riverlander raiding the Lannisters, but Jon had no time to waste on speculation. Robb could handle tactics and coordinate the various forces. Jon would deal with battle control.

The forest was beautiful, lush with spruce, soldier pines and oak, planted by Children of the Forest thousands of years ago. A thick carpet of dead leaves lay underfoot, and a rocky stream bubbled through the valley, next to the wide path underneath the wooded ridges. The trees were so thick that large shadows fell even in the mid morning light. Jon asked Chett to bring him the spyglass, and his voice echoed loudly off the valley walls. The acoustics of the woods magnified noise, so a man would have to whisper to not be overheard. That was interesting. At the northern end of the valley, the path narrowed and bent like a cocked arrow.

Jon pictured the battle in his mind. Brynden Tully would ride into the valley from the South. Robb would hide his men to the East and West and they would surge down through the ridges to attack the Lannister force. The Blackfish would turn and with reinforcements seal the northern side. It was a good choke point, and a natural area to make a stand. The scouts though were lightly armored, with leather and chain. If Jaime Lannister hesitated, then the North would win the day. But if he mustered a few dozen knights and they charged at full speed, they would shear through the outriders - and crooked path or not, could escape the valley, forcing a pitched and bloodier engagement, or even worse, raise the alarm. "What do you think, Jon?" Robb asked in a low voice, as Grey Wind snarled at a white snow shrike out of his reach. The bird trilled sharply, knowing the dire wolf could not reach.

"It is a good place for an ambush. But I worry about the Lannisters mounting a full charge. Do we know more about the Lannister forces?" Jon said.

"They have at least three thousand cavalry and possibly more. With Rivermen beaten at Golden Tooth, reinforcements have been trickling east over the hill road. We have heard that Vance and Piper have been raiding supply lines to the South. The Kingslayer is using cavalry to shield the infantry besieging Riverrun." The Blackfish said.

Jon nodded. Those were standard siege tactics. Cavalry foraged, protected foragers, and fended off nuisance attacks, while the infantry stayed close enough to encircle but far enough to avoid arrows. Siege weapons bombarded castle walls. "How are the knights equipped, Ser?"

"Plate mail, greatswords, and heavy lances. We have met a few deserters. They say the Kingslayer's knights overwhelmed the Rivermen with a charge at both the Golden Tooth and at Riverrun." Ser Brynden said.

"We cannot allow them to charge. They will break through the trap." Jon said.

"And how do you expect to prevent that?" The Blackfish asked skeptically.

There were ways, Jon thought. He could light the valley on fire, dig trenches and fill them with water from the river, or even litter the path with caltrops made from nails spiked through wood. But all three would kill the outriders first, and despite Lady Stark's opinion, he was not bastard enough to sacrifice her uncle. His father would not knowingly condemn good men to death. " I will make certain the Lannisters do not escape to the north side. I can build catapults."

The Blackfish was surprised but Robb readily accepted his brother's words. "We need to move quickly." Robb cautioned. "Every day that passes is a day that Tywin Lannister may send troops to Riverrun. This afternoon, the outriders will harry the Lannister forces and carry the Blackfish's banner. If he sees the Kingslayer riding out, Ser Brynden will lure him to the valley tonight. You will only have a few hours to prepare."

"I will need some men. Give me Smalljon Umber and the Forresters." Jon said. He turned to his boys, and began to give orders to saw wood and gather the nails and tools together. A few sets of wooden wheels were strewn on the earthen path.

Robb walked back to his guard, relaying instructions to the Smalljon, Rodrik and Ethan Forrester to help Jon. "My Lord, I know your brother is skilled but he cannot build a catapult in the forest. He has a few saws and hammers, but no rope, no steel, and no way to shape wood. There are not many rocks here large enough to be used as a missile. " The Blackfish said.

Robb thought about the story of the general raising the banner. "I trust my brother, Ser. If he says he can stop the Lannisters, then he shall. We must attend to other responsibilities."

* * *

Late in the afternoon, Jon put a finger to his lip to shush the Smalljon who quivered with excitement at the low rumble of horses galloping. Through his spyglass, he saw the clouds of dust following the Blackfish and his men, the banner of a black trout on a field of blue and red fluttering in the wind. He handed the instrument over, and the Smalljon and the Forresters took turns looking into the distance. Jon scanned the valley and saw the glint of spears and axes hiding on the ridges above. Much of the Northern cavalry had dismounted to fight, so they could surge down on both sides. Ghost stared South, hard red eyes looking for the approaching enemy.

With the naked eye, Jon could make out the Blackfish's grey horse closing rapidly on the path. Only a few minutes now. Initially, Robb had planned to spring the trap by blowing horns. The Karstarks, Mormonts and Umbers all carried long war horns carved from wild cattle. The Freys and the Mallisters also used bronze trumpets to rally their troops, and the mixed sounds would be a mummer's concert. Jon convinced his brother to use the acoustics of the valley in a less musical and more functional way.

Brynden Tully thundered by, the rest of his riders on his heels. Jon saw the gleaming golden armor of the Kingslayer, a flowing crimson cloak, and a white warhorse in gold barding. He turned to signal Chett while Rodrik and Ethan Forrester pushed the machines forward. The Smalljon lifted up an enormous rock and screamed a deafening yell that echoed through the valley. "**FIRE THE CATAPULTS!**" The Smalljon hurled the rock, the missile landing well short of Jaime Lannister. A few stones whirled from staff slings whizzed over the path, and landed closer but still in front of the destriers. Jon had no doubt that they were visible now, the wooden frames, levers and bars of the catapults turning the heads of the Lannister knights.

Jon Snow devised his plan with three principles in mind. Tywin Lannister had a fearsome reputation as a great commander but his military ideas and tactics were basic. The most powerful conventional weapon was heavily armed horsemen charging en masse. Hundreds of years of warfare proved that knights riding in a loose formation and then accelerating to maximum impact was devastating in war. The most important element of the charge, which was difficult to master, was keeping a steady line with fixed spaces as horses galloped to full speed. That was why skill at the joust was praised in knights and the Dothraki raiders, born to gallop, were so feared. Jon had no doubt that Lannister knights trained relentlessly to charge in waves toward the enemy line.

The second principle was the nature of cavalry versus artillery. Jon had researched siege warfare by reading scrolls and books on battles between cities in Essos during the death throes of Old Valyria. A smug archmaester told him not to bother as men on horses could crush any siege weaponry not guarded behind walls or infantry troops. Most catapults had a range of five hundred feet and even Valyrian artillery could reach only a quarter of a mile, and take time to reload. A cavalry charge could cover that distance in 20 seconds. If the initial shot missed, a crew could not reload and shoot before they were speared by a lance. When the Lannister knights saw the siege weapons in the open, they would gallop toward them. That reaction had been conditioned by generations of mounted combat.

And the last principle was the simplest. He had read this in an ancient Valyrian mathematics book: _Magnitudes are in equilibrium at distances reciprocally proportional to their weights_. This was the science behind the lever - a small weight could exert a great force with a fulcrum and a long enough bar. This humble machine could move mountains. Jon built a sturdy metal fulcrum and fitted the long ironwood plank on top. Only that hard black wood would be strong enough to withstand the massive force applied. The short end of the lever was under a large mishmash of wooden boards, nails and bars, a "catapult" seen by the Lannister knights.

The Smalljon climbed up a crudely constructed ladder to a high tree branch and jumped, all 250 pounds of solid muscle, down on the long end of the ironwood lever. As the plank slammed down on the ground, the mass of wood soared into the air, and smashed straight into the Lannister horses, sharpened wood spikes and nails, jutting out like a giant hedgehog. "**Again!**" Jon shouted. Chett and two boys rolled over another misshapen jumble of boards and spikes on a rough three wheeled dolly. Denys and Clydas set the short side down, and Chett positioned the next "catapult". Rodrik and Ethan climbed up to the tree branch, and as the boys went safely to the side, the Forresters jumped down, springing another large mass directly into the path of the charge.

Again and again, the Smalljon and the Forresters jumped onto the elevated long bar and the magnified force rained down crude giant objects onto the path. With nails and remaining ironwood supplemented by freshly cut pine and oak, Jon and the Winter Town crew had built eight such "machines' that now littered the battleground, even as roaring Northmen rushed down from three sides to hew and slash at the stunned opponents. The Lannister cavalry was well trained but no horse would charge into a wall or even worse, spikes jutting out of barriers that flew from the sky. As the knights attempted to evade the new obstacle course, the horses smashed into each other, and the valley descended into chaos. After the eight "catapults" were gone, the Smalljon and the Forresters continued the bombardment, lobbing logs, branches, and heavy rocks into the crowd.

On witnessing the destruction wreaked, the Blackfish and several outriders stepped in front, guarding the Wintertown crew and the lever against any Lannister swords. The Smalljon roared, his boisterous laugh filling the valley, a sentiment echoed by victorious Umbers and Mormonts who had smashed the entire right flank apart. Dozens of knights fell from horses and many more men-at-arms surrendered. In fact, most of the Lannister men had been trapped against the broken catapults by their own comrades, hemmed in by a circle of screaming Northern warriors. Robb was about to win a great victory. Then Jaime Lannister dismounted from his horse.

* * *

Jaime was not looking to flee or surrender. He did not wear the white cloak and armor of a Kingsguard knight. He wore golden armor decorated with the Lannister lion, and an ornate gleaming lion helmet. He discarded a long lance of golden wood and wielded a gilded sword and golden shield with his golden locks blowing back over a crimson cloak. Jon wondered if even Aemon the DragonKnight or Daemon Blackfyre had ever looked as regal. Then the Kingslayer walked to the western ridge and Jon knew the ultimate objective: to cut his way past the entire honor guard and kill Robb Stark. Jon took out his crossbow and special bolts and rushed past Brynden Tully to stop Jaime, followed by an silent white wolf.

Jaime Lannister was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as a deadly fighter with the rage of a lion and an arrogant disregard for dealing or facing death. That reputation was well deserved as he cut a bloody swath through Stark, Frey and Karstark men. Few people would think killing a dozen warriors to kill a lord possible but then, there was only one Kingslayer. Jon had never seen a sword so fast, or a man so dangerous.

There was four fighters left between Robb and Jaime when Jon arrived on the scene. The Kingslayer smashed the pommel of his blade into the side of Robin Flint's head, knocking him unconscious before thrusting the sword through Daryn Hornwood's shoulder. The Heir to Hornwood fell bleeding on the ground, Dacey Mormont stayed next to Robb with a shield and spiked mace while Eddard Karstark stepped forward to grimly exchange blows, his battle ax whirling in short and controlled loops. The Kingslayer defended and on Eddard's next blow, parried the downstroke, and pushed with his wrists, sending the blade down to the ground. It was the same exact motion that Jon had used in the duel at Winterfell, except the longsword forced the ax to clatter on the ground. Lannister raised his blade, dripping with blood, to strike a final blow.

"Kingslayer" Jon yelled, Ghost by his side.

Lannister turned to face the crossbow, the large shield protecting his chest. "Do you think you can really hurt me? My armor is the strongest steel in the Seven Kingdoms. When you miss, I will gut you, boy." Jaime said, dancing on his feet.

"Drop your sword." Jon said, with a confidence he did not feel. The problem with crossbows, like siege machines, was loading speed. Even with the innovative reload mechanism, he would only have one shot.

Jaime Lannister smiled, an arrogant, amoral smirk as he lunged forward. Jon shot, not at the shield but over him. The missile was no iron quarrel but a net that opened, with weighted bits of steel, and dropped over the knight. "What the…." The bloody blade stuck out through the holes of the net and the shield was stuck. "I will just slice your net in half, boy." Jaime said.

Jon's eyes turned dark red and he felt the anger of another soul, a powerful primal surge - the wolf blood rose in him. Then his perspective changed and Jon looked at the Kingslayer not over the crossbow sights, but upwards at the waist and legs. Blood dripped down his heavy canine teeth and a great desire came to rip the arrogant twat in half and crush him in powerful jaws. The blond man had threatened his pack mate and no dire wolf would accept that.

Ghost burst forward, dodging the clumsy longsword, and grabbed the steel weights of the net in his teeth, and ran at full speed, all hundred fifty pounds, flying like the wind. The wolf knocked Jaime Lannister off his feet and slammed the right arm, cushioned by the steel, into a tree. Ghost locked the net in his jaws and pulled up, and Lannister went head over heels, head slamming on the earth, sword flung away by the violent burst. The dire wolf bashed the man twice against the tree, his bloody mouth so close to ripping through the flimsy gorget that sealed the back of the throat. It would be so easy to end this. Simply flip the Kingslayer onto his back and plunge sharp teeth into the battered face, ripping through eyes, nose and mouth. He could smell the blood pumping under the fair white skin, and taste the fear. Then there would be no more threats to Grey Wind.

"No, Ghost. We need him alive." Jon said, as he tried to push down the wolf spirit. The white dire wolf glared briefly but then backed down, dragging Lannister's body over to his master. The sharp bloody teeth were bared, ready to bite down on the throat. Jon took the golden sword and held the point at Jaime's neck. "Do you yield, ser?"

The Kingslayer nodded.

As the news of the capture spread, the rest of Lannister's men threw down their arms. Jon sat down hard on the floor, and rubbed Ghost's neck and nuzzled the nose. The rush to protect Robb exhausted him although he was certain Ghost was barely winded. Grey Wind sauntered over, and the two wolves howled in the dusk. All around the valley, Westermen surrendered.

The North had won.

* * *

Author's Note

1) _Magnitudes are in equilibrium at distances reciprocally proportional to their weights_.

This is a translation of the Law of the Lever that Archimedes gives in the work entitled **On the Equilibrium of Planes**. He was a brilliant inventor and mathematician. In 213 or 214 BC, Romans besieged Syracuse, a city in Sicily, as part of the campaign against Hannibal. The citizens asked Archimedes to defend the city. He improved the distance and range of the city's catapults, and build cranes with claws and swivels that could drop massive rocks and even lift an entire Roman ship out of the water. That's incredible! He was 75 years old and a reason why the Romans required over a year to capture the city.

2) Was Jon's plan necessary? - after all, in the book, Robb manages to crush the enemy at the Whispering Wood, with only the loss of his honor guard to the Kingslayer - Daryn Hornwood, Torrhen and Eddard Karstark. Hornwood's death introduces the psychopath Ramsey Snow who somehow lucks into Lady Hornwood, and the Karstark killings result in the whole Catelyn Stark frees Jaime Lannister arc, Brienne's oath, Robb executes Lord Karstark for killing prisoners, losing a big chunk of his remaining troops.

A rational Jaime Lannister could have escaped Robb's trap. He is wearing heavy armor and could fight through Brynden tully and the north wall. If a whole bunch of knights charged in a wave, they would shatter a stationary force of infantry and horsemen. Also, the wiki claims that the North had 6,000 Northmen versus 2000 Westerman. I don't buy the 6K number. Robb only brings his cavalry down - he leaves his infantry with Roose Bolton (bad idea) and had Tywin pursed, half the Northern army could have been destroyed at Green Fork. And for what? It is not even Robb's main strategy.

Jon's bombardment results in negligible Northern casualties with more prisoners taken. He knows that the Lannisters have heavier armor and many Northmen would fight on foot, running down from the ridge. So he changed the terrain from a flat ground to an obstacle course.


	7. The Silver Link

**The Silver Link**

"Jon, you have captured the Kingslayer!"

There was no trace of jealousy in the happy congratulations. Robb stepped past the honor guard and embraced his brother, as excited as if he had won the Battle in the Whispering Wood by single combat. A battered Jaime Lannister lay sprawled on the ground, dirt all over the red cloak and dented armor, helmet askew. Grey Wind and Ghost chased around their masters, snapping playfully at each other's haunches.

Jon realized the wolves were still eager to hunt, howl, and stalk. The Starks treasured their direwolves but the beasts were natural born killers, heralds of the Northern gods. The First Men cut the throats of animals and men to bleed out on altars of weirwood trees. The blood dripping from the jaws of Ghost and Grey Wind were not much different.

"I am exhausted, Stark. Acolytes do not train to run around in battle at the Citadel. A book in the library suits me better than a crossbow." Jon jested, straining to be heard over raucous cheers throughout the valley. The Umbers were not quiet men, and even the normally calm Silver Eagles of Seagard joined the celebration.

"You need to spar more in the yard, Snow." Robb smiled. "We have won a victory but there is great deal more to do." Robb said as men bound the Kingslayer with thick ropes.

"Did we have many casualties?" Jon asked.

"Very few, I think. Our men kept their line together and the Lannisters were fleeing left and right. Besides Hornwood and Flint, my Honor Guard suffered no wounds. The Lannisters were crushed as much by their horses falling as our men. Not a good way to die." Robb said, looking at the many dying steeds screaming as they were put out of their misery.

"I will see to Daryn Hornwood. Robb, you need to go forth. Urge the men to take as many hostages as possible. For ransom and trade for our Lord Father and sisters."

"Aye, I need to speak to our forces. We have to organize our men for an attack and we should be at the gates of Riverrun by the morning. The Lannisters will know something amiss when Jaime and his knights do not return. We have to check who we captured or killed, what forces they may have led, and any hint of the defenses near Riverrun." Robb said.

More Lords came every minute to congratulate Robb on the great victory. The boisterous Smalljon pantomimed with hands and arms how he single handedly stopped the Lannister charge to an excited crowd with the Greatjon laughing by his side. Brynden Tully came by with Jason Mallister and Maege Mormont, and Jon spotted Catelyn Stark walking down the western ridge, escorted by Hallis Mollen and Theon Greyjoy. Theon's brash voice carried over the crowd. ".. as great a victory as the Field of Fire, my lady. I vow that the Lannisters lost ten men for every one of hours that fell."

"Does Theon think he is the Warrior reborn? He sat on the hill and shot a few horses. And most of the arrows bounced off." Dacey Mormont japed, cleaning bone and brains off her mace.

Jon turned to Daryn Hornwood. Jaime had cut him in the shoulder but it was a stab and not a more dangerous slash. Several blood vessels flowed near that area, and the Hornwood heir bled, but not as much as he would if the channel delivering blood from the collar bone to the arm had been cut. "Chett, Clydas, Denys." Jon called as he took off Hornwood's gorget and shoulder greaves. The three boys popped up immediately, worry visible on their face. "Start a fire. I need plenty of water to be boiled. Do we have cauldrons?"

"No Maester. Only a few waterskins. But we could make a cauldron." Chett said.

"What if we used armor?" Clydas pointed at the golden plate mail. "If we seal the bottom with a piece of metal, we could boil water over a tripod." Jaime Lannister looked aghast that anyone would use the finest suit of armor in Casterly Rock as a teapot.

"Spears ser! We could interlink three spears together to form the base. Put helmets on top, and the water would boil." Denys added.

"Good thinking, lads. Better than many maesters. Gather the other boys and set to work. Boil as much clean water from the river as possible. Bring me the light brown pouch - with the silver pin. I have herbs, needle and thread there." Jon said. He had not forged the silver link for medicine but he had taken a class on healing with Alleras under Archmaester Ebrose. Unlike the brilliant but dubious Qyburn, Ebrose was dull, pedantic and extremely thorough. He was the Citadel's expert on disease and infection. The Sphinx gifted Jon a doeskin bag and silver pin to celebrate the practical exam where they dissected a corpse together, and were the only duo to correctly label every major blood vessel, even surpassing larger teams of experienced students.

"Lord Snow." the young Karstark approached him, war axe tightly clasped in both hands as a ritual offering. Dacey Mormont and Wendel Manderly looked on with interest.

"I am a Snow, but no Lord, Eddard." Jon said.

"I owe you my life. The Kingslayer would have gutted me like a fish if you had not faced him. I pledge my axe to you until I can return the favor.' Eddard said.

"You were willing to give your life for my brother and your liege lord. That is all I would ever ask - to protect Robb. Defend him with honor, guide him with good counsel, and take the piss out of him whenever you can. Even the future Lord of Winterfell deserves a jape or two." Jon said.

"Thank you, Ser Snow." Eddard said with a smile.

Jon saw no need to correct the Ser. It was merely a mark of respect. He turned to Daryn Hornwood who was trying foolishly to get up. "Rest, ser. I will bind your wound."

"Do you have to burn the infection? Will I lose an arm? Is that why that boy is starting a fire?" Daryn looked at the red hot spear tip with dread.

"What? No. Chett is only boiling water. You have a cut, deep but not too bad. But first, the wound needs to be cleaned before we can apply medicine and bandages." Jon said.

"Will I live, Maester Snow?" Daryn asked, slightly delirious.

"You will be fine. It may take a few weeks to heal, but with proper care, the cut is no danger. It may take longer for you to wield a sword at your full strength after that." Jon assured him.

"You are a Maester? I was captured in battle by a maester." Jaime groaned. His father was definitely not going to be impressed that the Lion of Lannister was taken by a bookish healer.

"Actually, I am only an acolyte." Jon said. He disregarded the mocking laughter of Eddard and Dacey at the Kingslayer as he pressed hard on Hornwood's neck with a wet towel, wiping away dirt and dried blood, and putting pressure to stanch the bleeding.

* * *

Jon followed Dacey Mormont and her sisters, Jorelle and Lyra, to the command tent. Robb quickly called a war council to quell the wild celebrations breaking out. Northerners had already guzzled the few wineskins at hand and if the Northern army liberated Riverrun, Jon was certain the stores of wine and ale at the castle would be immediately gone.

"I captured a knight with my mace. His shield had a prancing purple unicorn." Jorelle snickered.

"No wonder he surrendered. He was ashamed of his house sigil. What a bunch of Nancies these southern men are." Lyra retorted.

"Aly will be sorry she missed this. She would have loved a chance to fight in a real battle, not just Ironborn raids." Dacey said, speaking of the second sister who had stayed at Bear Island.

"Battle? Half of them got squished to death by their horses. The other half threw down their weapons before any fighting. At least, you faced the Kingslayer, Dacey. The bards should write a song. The She-Bear and the Lion." Lyra said. "Apologies, Ser Snow. The Maester Nets the Lion sounds less grand."

The lion in question pretended not to hear. Jaime Lannister, stripped of the golden armor and the crimson cloak, shuffled slowly, hands and ankles tied together in thick knots. Eddard Karstark and four other members of the honor guard, hands on their weapons, escorted their most valuable captive. Two men stood on each side and Eddard followed behind, axe ready, vigilant for any attempt to flee. As he should, Jon thought. This was still a dangerous man.

The tent overflowed, and hundreds of men stood outside but the crowd parted for the Mormonts. Jeers broke out of Kingslayer and Sisterfucker but Jaime just smirked as Eddard walked him to Robb. Even captured, Jaime's hubris remained, and his eyes promised the well known words of his house - the Lannisters always paid their debts. The Stark heir stood, the crowd's attention on him, with Catelyn Stark and the Blackfish at his side. Jon squeezed into a seat near the front, between the rather spacious Wendel Manderly and the lanky Dacey Mormont.

"My Lords and knights. The North and the Riverlands have won a great victory. My thanks go to all, but I would recognize my great uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, for leading the outriders and my brother, Jon." Robb said. Loud cheers erupted from all sides of the tent, and even a few Freys applauded. Ryman Frey and the men around him did not. "Jon Snow captured the Kingslayer."

The crowd roared again, shaking the tent. The two younger Mormont girls winked, and Wylis Manderly leaned over his brother and whispered that he should walk forward. Jon stepped up next to a smiling Robb and a scowling Jaime, and turned to the crowd. "My Lords. I did not do this alone. Smalljon Umber and the Forresters sprang the trap. And Robb's honor guard stood bravely against Jaime Lannister. Robin Flint and Daryn Hornwood fought with courage, and Eddard Karstark and Dacey Mormont were ready to give their lives for Lord Stark. These men and lady deserve the glory of the capture."

With that, sections of the tent broke out in applause for their preferred champions. Lord Halys Hornwood sounded a bizarre low and long grunt, something between a croak and a moan. Jon found out later that was the noise made by a bull moose rutting. He promptly tried to forget that fact. The Umbers chanted "Catapult, Catapult" and drowned out the Karstark men while Lord Gregor Forrester hugged his two sons. All three branches of House Flint - the mountain men, the seamen of Widow's Watch, and the hill men of the Finger - united in celebration. Nobody was louder though than Dacey's younger sisters who cheered so lustily that Maege Mormont rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

After a minute, Robb held up his hands for silence. He had allowed the crowd to vent their energy before moving on to more serious matters. "The Kingslayer is not our only prize. We have captured many lords and knights. Lord Quenten Banefort, Lord Gawen Westerling, Ser Tytos Brax, Lord Regenard Estren, Ser Cleos Frey, and Ser Garth Greenfield. The Lannister forces have lost many of their leaders. By the morning, they will know the Kingslayer is missing. We will ride in the dead of night, and surprise them before they awake." Robb said.

"Lord Stark, do we know how many men they have?" Stevron Frey asked.

"We defeated twenty five hundred. We believe there are 12,500 men left." Robb said. Jon realized why the Freys started to grumble. The Freys only wanted to attack when they had an overwhelming advantage. The North and the Rivermen would be meaningfully outnumbered but they had the element of surprise and an advantage in cavalry.

"We should put our captives to the question. We can learn numbers and location." Ryman Frey said.

"I would be happy to ask these questions." An ugly young man stood up, big boned and slope shouldered. He had small eyes and a small mouth, but his lips were wide and meaty and the eyes close-set and hard. He was pale and pink, like all color had been drained from his face.

"What is your name?" Robb asked.

"Ramsey Dustin." the man said, with a wet-lipped smile. That was odd, Jon thought. Lady Dustin had sent no cavalry, and this Ramsey wore no sigil.

"We captured free riders among the Lannister horse. If we offer them their freedom, they may tell us." Robb said.

"How do you know a sellsword won't lie? We have a thousand prisoners. What does it matter if a few disappear?" Ryman countered.

"House Stark does not approve of torture, Ser." Robb said sternly.

"My Lord, who will watch the prisoners when we ride? We cannot leave many men behind." Galbart Glover asked.

"Raventree Hall is only a few miles away. I will ride and see if House Blackwood would allow the use of their dungeons. " The Blackfish said. That solution might work for now, Jon thought, but it was not a permanent answer. The Blackwoods were an old and well respected family with a stout ancestral fortress but valuable prisoners needed to be kept close at hand, not doled out and spread through the Riverlands.

"Thank you, Ser Brynden. My Lords, I urge you to eat and rest. The time for merry making is over. Riverrun is a hard two hours ride from here. Night will fall soon. In eight hours, we will break camp, and march to defeat the Lannisters." Robb said.

* * *

Jon had no time to wait. He needed to return to Daryn Hornwood but first he had to speak to Robb. As always, the heir to Winterfell was engaged but Jon locked eyes with Robb and his brother quickly dismissed the rest of the Lords, including several disgruntled Freys. The last to leave the tent were the Blackfish and Lord Mallister, who would both ride for Raventree. Robb ordered the Stark guards to patrol outside and ensure their privacy.

Robb invited Jon to sit. "The Lords think I am being foolish. The Freys are not the only ones who think torturing prisoners would yield valuable information." Robb said.

"You are your father's son." Jon said simply. Both boys knew that Ned Stark would never torture a prisoner, even one he hated.

"Yes, and he is in the Black Cells in King's Landing." Robb snapped.

"All the more reason to treat our prisoners fairly. If not us, then who? The Northern houses will follow your lead - and if you allow torture, what else will our men do?" Jon said.

Robb rubbed his chin, and Grey Wind simultaneously scratched his side. Jon was amused and wondered if he and Ghost ever did the same exact thing. "Aye, you are right. We agree. Do you know what the men call you now?" Robb said with a hint of laughter."They whisper you have magical powers with wood and metal. Summoning bridges and casting enchantments on our enemy." Jon rolled his eyes. "A few claim you are a sorcerer from Qarth."

"Warlock." Jon said. "Qarth has warlocks, not sorcerers."

"What is the difference?" Robb said, puzzled.

"Who knows. I am no expert on strange men with blue lips who claim great powers that they never show. But I do have an idea, and it may involve magic." Jon said.

Robb immediately straightened up and paid Jon his full attention. "Go on."

"In the battle, after I trapped Lannister with the net, something strange happened. I felt the wolf blood rise in me, and I saw the Kingslayer not from my eyes, but lower. And then I attacked and grabbed the net with my jaws. I became Ghost. I wanted to kill him, to rip his face apart with my teeth. It was difficult even to stop." Jon said.

"You are a warg." Robb said softly. "I think I am one too. The night before you came, I dreamt of a white wolf who would fight by my side. When I sleep, I have wolf dreams, of hunting boar and elk in the wolfswood. The other packs howl but they kneel when I pass, offering their kills to me. Many times we hunt together, and Summer and Shaggy Dog follow. Sometimes when I wake, I can still taste blood in my mouth."

Jon nodded. He had similar dreams, although in some, he saw a beautiful and fierce she-wolf, grey fur and dark golden eyes. She was a proud queen and ruled a pack of smaller grey cousins, dozens of them, but she allowed Ghost to nip at her heels playfully. "How large is the wolfswood near Winterfell?" Jon asked.

"It is huge, Jon. It extends as far west as Sea Dragon Point and South as Torrhen's Square. It reaches all the way to the mountains clans in the Northeast and even to the edge of the White Knife. It must be over a hundred miles east to west and perhaps even longer north to south. Some say the wolfswood only ends after the Bay of Ice." Robb said.

"So further from Winterfell than Riverrun is from here." Jon said.

"What are you saying, Jon?" Robb said.

"Ghost can run fifty miles to Riverrun in two hours. He can follow the trail of the Lannister army. When he gets to the castle, I can warg into him, and see through his eyes. We would know the defenses and the guard posts, so there would be no question of where the camps are and how many men." Jon said.

For a moment, Robb was struck silent by the audacity of the plan. "Old Nan used to tell us stories of skin changers but she said that a man could lose themselves in the animal, and too much time as a warg would change you, and not for the better."

"It is a risk worth taking. We are in a war. We need every advantage." Jon said.

"Perhaps Grey Wind should go as well." Robb said.

Jon shook his head. "Robb, if there is danger, let me take the risk. Ghost is silent and blends into the moonlight. We don't need Grey Wind roaming around, and all the other wolves bowing and scraping to him like a royal wheelhouse passing."

Robb smirked. "Alright. I will find you in a few hours. And whether this succeeds or not, you have my thanks. Will you rest now?"

"No, too much to do. Come find me later, Stark" Jon said.

"I will, Snow."

* * *

After parting with Ghost, Jon returned to the stream where a worried Lord Hornwood sat next to his son and heir. Per his orders, Chett and his friends had boiled water in multiple strange vessels: helmets, breastplates, even horse barding. The Wintertown crew constructed a bed of wooden planks for Daryn Hornwood, and Jon was pleased to see various poles, waterskins, and his cloak, cleaned in the stream and dried by the fire. A few members of the Honor Guard sat close by, including Eddard Karstark watching over a sullen Jaime Lannister. Jon's belly grumbled slightly at the smell of roasting meat as the Mormonts ate nearby.

Jon took items out of the doeskin bag, metal and bone needles, thread, bundles of herbs, and small stoppered jugs. The last item was a pouch with a rolled up coil of yellow brown cloth. Jon took the cloth out gently and unrolled it on his cloak. He then washed his hands thoroughly in the stream before heating the needle in the fire. "Gather around lads. I will show you how to heal." Jon said. The Wintertown crew gathered closely, waiting for him to begin.

"If there is only one thing you remember, it is this. Stay clean. Before you treat or heal, make sure everything is clean. Dirt is the enemy of health. Everything must be clean, your needle, the thread, anything you would put on your patient must be clean, and certainly your own hands." Jon said. "Now examine the wound." The boys looked at the bloody mark on Daryn Hornwood's shoulder, dripping pus and blood. "Before you seal the wound, it must be cleaned of things like bone, hair, stones, dirt. The ancient Valyrians called this debridement - the removal of dead and foreign material from wounds."

Jon turned to Daryn Hornwood. "This may hurt, but it will mean the wound will not fester." The Hornwood heir nodded bravely but his father put both hands to his eyes. Jon unstoppered a bottle and soaked a small piece of cloth. He then applied the cloth to both sides of the wound, wiping away anything that was dead. Daryn grimaced and bit down hard but did not scream. Satisfied, Jon took the needle and thread and began to sew sutures on both sides of the wound, the needlework swift and elegant. Then he placed some dried herbs on the bolt of yellow cloth, cut the thin cloth with a knife, and wrapped the dressing about the shoulder. "Done." Jon said.

"That's it?" Lord Halys Hornwood yelled. "Don't you need to do anything else?"

"No, the only thing now is to keep that area clean and moist, so it heals. Also Heir Hornwood should drink a lot of water." Jon said.

"Maester Snow, can you tell us what you used and why?" Chett asked.

"Of course. This is a bottle of apple cider vinegar. When you ferment wine for too long, it becomes vinegar. They discovered this in the Empire of Ghis five thousand years ago and that it had medicinal qualities. I used the vinegar to irrigate and clean out his wound. With heated needle and thread, I closed the cut. The herbs are sphagnum moss, readily available in the Neck. Dried out, it reduces infection. And the cloth - that too is from Essos - the city of Meereen. This is linen, made from flax, and it allows the skin to breath. It is better than most cloth for dressings and bandages." Jon said.

"And I will recover fully?" a surprised Daryn asked.

"Well, nothing is certain but you should. The best thing now would be rest. Actually - Chett, skin some horse legs. Boil them with water and make bone broth. It will be easy for patients to drink." Jon said.

"Maester Snow, House Hornwood is grateful. As Lord of the Hornwood, I would grant you land or hunting rights or….." Halys Hornwood said.

Jon waved it off. "It is nothing. If you wish to give a reward, give it to my boys. Daryn Hornwood fought for my brother. That is more than enough for me."

* * *

Jon walked over to the Kingslayer. "Jaime Lannister, do you wish to save some of your men?"

"What do you want, bastard?" Jaime said, attracting angry glares from many Northmen.

"Exactly what I said - to save your men. There are very few Northern injuries, but many knights and soldiers fighting under you were hurt. Some may die and others will be crippled for life. I can't treat them all, but I can help some."

"And why would you help them?" Jaime asked suspiciously.

"I was trained in healing at the Citadel. I would rather not see people die if it can be helped. Besides, my boys could use the practice. I don't have time for japes or a cock pissing contest. Do you not care if your soldiers die, Lannister?" Jon said.

"Are you certain this is a good idea, Maester Snow?" Eddard Karstark asked. "We are at war with them."

The exchange with the Kingslayer attracted the attention of many, and Jon felt the many eyes of Mormonts, Glovers, and Karstark men on him. "That is true and in a war, we have the right to kill our enemy. But wars do not last forever and these are captured prisoners, valuable to trade for ransom or our own men. If they die, then that is our loss. And if they need to be saved from death or being crippled, then they can hardly fight. At the Citadel, we are taught that everyone deserves healing, and that your House should not matter." Jon said.

"Alright, what can I do?" Jaime said.

"You will still be tied up and under Eddard's guard. But walk among the prisoners and tell them I will treat them. For those I can save, I will." Jon said.

"Maester Snow, perhaps you can stay here. Chett and I will bring the patients." Denys said.

"But how will you carry them?" Jon asked.

Clydas placed a long plank on the crude three wheeled dolly. He scavenged some horse bridles and tied it around the bed, to help secure any wounded. "We can use this, ser. We can roll them, like we did with the false catapults." Clydas said.

"Very well, half of you go with Lannister. The others stay here, and prepare to work. Remember. I can't help the dying. Bring me people who are injured and can be healed." Jon said as Eddard Karstark, Ser Donnel Locke, and Dacey Mormont left to escort the Kingslayer.

* * *

Jon worked methodically as Chett and friends rolled in patient after patient. He set broken arms and legs, and showed the crew how to create splints for the bone to heal. He washed and cleaned wounds with boiled water and then vinegar. He removed arrows, took out stones, treated abrasions with salves, and knitted the undamaged flesh together as much as possible. For some injuries, he applied honey. For others, he pounded the sphagnum moss into a black paste, and brushed it on the closed wounds. When he ran out of linen, he ripped up cloaks to make bandages and made the bindings, loose so the skin could breathe. When he finished, the helpers carried away the patient on a plank and Jon began anew. After the first dozen patients, Jon lost track of the number, focusing only on treating the injuries as efficiently as possible. After the third dozen, he ran low on supplies and was forced to improvise, stripping thread from garments, and boiling cloth in water to make more bindings. After each operation, he washed his hands and sterilized any needles in the fire or boiling water. There was no dream wine or milk of the poppy, so those in pain bit down on leather bridles.

Jon treated boys and men alike, squires and knights. From their dress and sigils, he knew that the patients were high-born but sadly, he could not treat everyone. He tried hard to avoid any amputations, preferring to use strips of leather tightly bound to reduce any blood loss and instructing the boys to release the tourniquet thirty minutes after the operation. The Wintertown crew did their best to support their master. They gave water to drink, washed the injured areas first, fed bone broth after the operation, and made sure that bandages were kept moist. He could not save everyone - that would be too much to ask even in better conditions - but he saved most. And he warned others that if they kept their bindings clean, there was a good chance to avoid infection.

All around Jon, beds began to appear - crude planks where patients rested and recovered. rings and rings of squires and knights tended to by smallfolk from Wintertown as their master continued his work by the light of a fire. Luckily, Chett was intelligent enough to make certain a lane was free so that new patients could be brought quickly to the center.

When the Westermen first came, many were suspicious, some were frightened, but by the end, all were grateful. They called out their names to thank him - Willem Lannister, a young squire, Tytos Brax, Lord of the prancing unicorn, Mallor the Dornishman, Ser Garth Greenfield who strangely was the head of his House but not a lord. Jon ignored the talk. He was far more focused on his dwindling supplies. He had no doubt that these men were the enemy still, and while he was happy to heal others, his first priority would always be his brothers and sisters.

A crowd of curious Northmen - Mormonts, Glovers, Umbers, Karstark, and even Patrek Mallister and a few Freys - gathered to watch the surgical theater unfold. Every castle had a Maester and many lords and heirs had seen medical treatment before but the scale and scope was far different. In a few hours, Jon had treated more than sixty men, a number that would have struck the Citadel as unfathomable. Finally, the stream of patients began to stop, as Jon's limited supplies and replacements for supplies were exhausted. He could do little more. He had no moss, no herbs, no vinegar, and no honey left. Had the Northmen not drank all the wine, he might have used that but he doubted there was a drop left in the entire valley. And then Robb made his way through the crowd, the Blackfish at his side, to find him.

* * *

They walked past curious Northmen and Rivermen to Robb's tent. There were three boys there, tall and thin, dark haired and serious. The first two wore burnished scarlet armor inlaid with an intricate design - a flock of eleven ravens flying on a red field surrounding a black shield with a dead white weirwood tree. The youngest was even taller, almost seven feet tall but gawky and gangly, and more skilled with a book than a sword. Jon recognized the sigil of course - House Blackwood. In the Age of Heroes, they ruled the wolfswood around Winterfell before the Kings of Winter drove them out of the North.

Jon looked quizzically at Robb but the three Blackwoods followed the Blackfish into the tent. Jon and Robb sat down on the same side of the table with the Blackfish and the Blackwoods facing them. Olyvar poured cups of water before leaving the tent.

"This is my brother, Jon Snow. Ser Brynden, please introduce your guests." Robb said.

The oldest boy, perhaps a few years older than Robb, interrupted. "I am Brynden Blackwood. These are two of my five younger brothers, Lucas and Hoster. Our father, Tytos Blackwood, is trapped at Riverrun. Before the Lannisters set their siege, he sent us a raven, saying that Edmure Tully was captured and that he retreated with the remaining Rivermen into the castle."

"Lord Blackwood named his heir after me." Ser Brynden said. "The Blackwoods are loyal servants to House Tully. Lord Stark told me what you have planned, Maester Snow. I invited the Blackwoods here to help. I have not returned to Riverrun for fifteen years and served in the Vale of Arryn. I am not certain if things have changed around the castle. Lucas and Hoster visited House Tully only a few months ago. They could help guide us better."

Robb Stark, looking every bit the Heir to Winterfell, spoke. "Before Jon begins, all of you in the room must swear that you will keep this a secret. We do not want anyone, from the North or the Riverlands, to know about this. I will be most wroth if anyone talks."

"Know about what, Lord Stark?" Hoster said. He shrank at the glare from Robb and a swift elbow from his brother Brynden. The three brothers swore the oath of secrecy and the Blackfish followed.

"Jon is a warg." Robb said to the gasps of the Blackwood boys. "He has sent Ghost ahead to Riverrun, and he will attempt to see through his direwolf's eyes."

"I find it difficult to believe but I trust Lord Stark on this." Ser Brynden said.

"I trust my brother, Ser." Robb said.

Jon closed his eyes. He reached for the wolf, and he saw him in his mind's eye - Ghost, quiet, alert, hidden behind a pine tree, under the moonlight. His human body felt slow and sluggish but the dire wolf welcomed his spirit, and Jon's eyes glazed over and turned milky white. He felt quick and strong - and all the exhaustion of the night disappeared, replaced by a desire to run free and hunt with his littermates. There was a she wolf far away that he yearned to find. Jon forced his focus back on the many tents surrounding the tall castle.

"I see a castle and a wide river, the water blue white - a fast current. The castle is a triangle, and has red sandstone walls, and towers that command all three sides. There is water all around the fortress. There are thousands of tents, north of the river." Jon said.

"What banners do you see?" Robb said.

"Can you see in the dark?" Hoster squeaked, to the annoyance of his brothers.

"He is a wolf. We hunt at night." Robb said brusquely.

"I see a golden lion on a crimson field. That is the most common one, but there is also a black, hooded man on a grey field within a golden fence of fire. I see a brindled black and white boar on a brown field, and six white seashells on yellow sand." Jon said.

"House Lannister, Banefort, Crakehall, and Westerling all resting in the camp north of the Tumblestone." The Blackfish said.

"Jon, is there any cavalry?" Robb said.

"Not north of the river, but to my right, south of the river, I can smell horse but not too many - perhaps a few hundred."

"That would be to the West. Do you see any other tents?" the Blackfish said.

"Most tents are north of the river. But to the left, south of the fork, there are a thousand tents, much less than the north. I see a red bull on a field of grey. I see a large white tower with three turrets. There are a hundred horse near the banner with the tower." Jon said.

"The first banner is House Prester but what is the second?" the Blackfish said.

"That is the sign of Free City of Tyrosh." Hoster said.

"The Lannisters have hired Tyroshi sellswords." Robb said. "Interesting - perhaps Tywin can't raise more men. Why hire mercenaries if you can reinforce yourself easily?"

"On my right, across the river, there is a purple unicorn on a silver field, 4 red double headed eagles, a green field with two sets of white lines." Jon continued.

"House Brax, House Estren, and House Greenfield." the Blackfish said.

"So the Lannister forces are split into three camps. With most soldiers on the northern part. Tyroshi sellswords and freeriders and House Prester to the south. And three other houses guarding the West." Robb said. "Jon, what about the guards - How many?"

Jon held his hand out for silence. Ghost ran swiftly through the trees, watching with his hard garnet eyes, and sniffing around the northern camp. "Not many. Ten, perhaps twelve. I could kill them all. 6 pairs walking about the camp." Jon said.

"Only twelve guards for four thousand plus men?" the Blackfish asked.

"We have captured many of their commanders. Perhaps they have lost their discipline. Or the Kingslayer may have been too confident." Robb mused.

"What else do you see, Maester Snow? Tell me more of the castle." the Blackfish said.

"There is a great water wheel on the north side of the red walls, covered with ivy and near a red rusty arch with a iron portcullis. There are many boats tied up to that gate. I see men on the walls with fish crest helms." Jon said.

"Tully men - perhaps with a few Blackwoods. That is the Water Gate on the north. Hoster still keeps boats tied up there." the Blackfish said proudly.

"So what would you guess the numbers to be?" Robb asked.

"The North has the most men. Then to my right side, south of the river. The West has several thousand with some horse but not many. And to my left side, south of the river. The South has the least with the Tyroshi." Jon said.

"Are there any bridges? Have they managed to connect the forces?" Robb said.

"No, I do not see any. The campfires are lit far from the water. There are no lights near the river. Wait." Jon stopped for a minute. "On the north shore, I see logs lashed together in a square."

"The Lannisters must have built some rafts to cross. There are many pine trees near Riverrun. They could have cut some down." Lucas Blackwood said.

"But the Tumblestone runs very fast. And the raft is only large enough to bring a few men, and no horse." Robb thought aloud.

"Do you see many rafts?" the Blackfish asked.

"I see some on the West Side but not many. They do not look very strong. The rafts on the north shore are to the right of the castle."

"The Lannisters have no real way to cross. Three camps, all separated by water. But that is a problem for us too." Robb thought. Then he chuckled. "How fast do ravens fly?"

"Fifty miles a hour, give or take. But Robb, they don't fly at night." Jon said. The pupils of his eyes began to return.

"Ser Brynden, I have our plan. I know how to smash these camps. Brynden Blackwood, I need to borrow ravens, several of them. Jon, let Ghost rest there. Grey Wind will meet him at the North Camp before the dawn." Robb said.

"Raventree Hall is yours, my Lord. We have ravens aplenty. And my brothers and I only ask to fight by your side." Brynden Blackwood said.

"Your father would skin me alive if his sons were hurt." the Blackfish said.

"And he would be humiliated if his sons did not fight to rescue him." Brynden retorted. "The Starks are fighting for their Lord father. Why should we not risk our lives for ours?"

"Enough." Robb Stark commanded. "You are welcome to fight. We have only a few hours before we must ride. Let us all get rest. By dawn tomorrow, we will be at the Gates of Riverrun."

* * *

Author's Note

In terms of ancient medicine, there were practitioners in other parts of the world but I don't know enough about the history of medicine in China, India or Africa. Western records focus on three major contributors. The first was ancient Egypt. Through mummification, the Egyptians had the best knowledge of anatomy. They also were experts at bandages (linen) and used honey, lint and grease to treat wounds. I have equated that with the Empire of Ghis. The second was ancient Greece. Hippocrates (400 BC) used vinegar to irrigate wounds. The Greeks washed wounds with clean boiled war, vinegar and wine. Galen (129 AD to 210 AD) was a Greek who studied in ancient Rome and performed eye and brain surgeries! He was also personal physician to three Roman emperors. And other Greek doctors, working for Romans, made huge contributions in the medicinal value of herbs. They wrote books used for a thousand years on the pharmaceutical value of certain plants. The Greeks were also credited with discovering that bandages must be kept moist for better healing.

In efficiency and application, the Romans were unparalleled. In the republic, medical care for the legions was haphazard but Julius Caesar employed military doctors to boost the morale of the legion. Augustus made a medical staff standard to the Roman army. Essentially, the Romans applied their skills at engineering to military medicine. They understood hygiene (aqueducts and sewage systems) and perhaps most importantly, they viewed the legionnaire as a valuable asset and invested in methods to save him from wounds and infection. The Romans invented combat field care, field hospitals with ambulances (wagons pulled by horses), and the concept of triage. Even though the Romans did not understand disease from a theoretical perspective (thanks to the Greeks), they were great at solving practical matters. Roman doctors saved the lives of 70% of the wounded that arrived at a field hospital. This is staggering given that percentage was only exceeded again in the 1904-1905 Russo-Japanese war. After Rome fell, the quality of medical care in Europe completely fell apart, going back to potions, charms, and other nonsense.

If you want to read more about Roman military medicine, there is a paper online - Avoiding Death Like the Plague - Wound Care in the Roman Army by Gwendolyn Dougherty.


	8. Prisoners and Camps

**Prisoners and Camps**

"Lord Stark, there are simply too many prisoners."

The speaker of those words ignored the red face of the Blackwood heir who had promised Robb otherwise. Morva Blackwood, a niece of Lord Whent of the Great Tourney, was the Lady of Raventree Hall and she was more than a match for her eager sons. The Whents of Harrenhal were famed for generosity but Lady Blackwood leavened that with common sense.

"But Mother, we need to rescue our Lord father." Brynden Blackwood sputtered.

"Do you not think I do not want Tytos back in my bed?" the dark haired matron snapped. "Your father took many of our retainers with him to Riverrun. Counting young boys and old men, Raventree has less than seventy men. How can we guard a thousand prisoners?" Morva turned to Robb. "My Lord, Raventree Hall has strong walls, high towers and a deep moat but the dungeons are small and cells are few. We can hold four or five hundred, but even then, for not very long - and not the most dangerous prisoners."

Left unsaid was that the castle did not have the supplies sufficient to feed so many, and that Lady Morva did not wish to host Jaime Lannister as prisoner. The Lords in the tent began to speak over each other in their haste to offer thoughts.

"My Lady, we could leave troops with you." the Blackfish said.

"My knights would be happy to guard the plunder." Ryman Frey said. Even after the battlefield was looted for weapons and supplies, horses and suits of armor remained in the thousands as well as valuable highborn prisoners. Jon had no doubt of the greed in Ryman's eyes.

"We could wait for reinforcements before we attack the forces at Riverrun. In six days, Lord Bolton and Lord Karstark should join us. Then we would outnumber them." Stevron Frey said.

"Lord Stark's battle plan depends on surprise. If we do not attack soon, that will be gone." Jason Mallister said.

"We cannot spare many troops and we must ride soon to get to Riverrun." Robb said.

"We cannot afford to lose our prisoners, my Lord." Galbart Glover said.

"There is a simple solution to that. We could cull the less valuable ones. They would have died anyway in battle." Ryman Frey said. The Northern Lords glared with loathing and even some Freys disavowed the suggestion. The Rivermen were disgusted but such ideas matched their expectations of Ser Ryman.

Before greater bickering could break out, Jon interrupted. "Perhaps we could transport the most important prisoners while leaving the more injured at Raventree Hall. Jaime Lannister must be watched at all times, and there are other commanders too valuable to lose. The dungeons of Riverrun would be the best holding area after Lord Stark defeats the Lannisters."

"Is that possible? To take so many captives to Riverrun without the army?" Robb asked.

"Possible, yes. Easy, no." Jon replied.

"But Maester Snow, how many men will you need to guard five hundred on the open road?" the Blackfish asked.

"Not many, Ser. The Winter Town boys, and perhaps a few of our injured, like Daryn Hornwood. Lady Blackwood, are there any extra supplies at Raventree Hall - nails, lumber, wagons, chains?" Jon asked.

"My Lord Husband took much when he marched. But you are welcome to look." the lady said.

"The castle may not have many supplies. But here is a yard very near that serves the merchants of Ramsford and Fairmarket for trade on Blue Fork. They owe taxes to Raventree Hall, and would have a great deal of supplies." Hoster Blackwood said.

"A shipyard? Now that is interesting," Jon's eyes gleamed brightly. "Is it well stocked?"

"Yes. Since the Lannisters declared war, the Trident has been closed for trade." Hoster said.

"Then, my Lords, I can bring five hundred captives down. I would be slower than the army but I would arrive by midmorning." Jon said.

"Is it not dangerous to bring the Lannister men south? What if we lose the battle at Riverrun?" Stevron Frey asked.

It was not an unreasonable question despite the furious glares and angry whispers in the tent. Stevron Frey was not craven but he was too cautious, as suited a man who had waited fifty years for his father to die. Then again, many of the Northmen were too fearless - and that too could be exploited in war. Only the Blackfish and the Blackwoods knew of Ghost's role as a scout, and why Robb was so eager to roll the dice on attacking a host double their number. In war, Fortune favors the bold, but only if they prepared well.

"Lord Stark will win the battle." Jon said. "And I will bring Jaime Lannister to him in Riverrun."

"Aye. My Lords. We have taken the time to debate, but now is the time for action. We need to be bold, to strike with all of our might, and crush the Lannisters once again. We will show the lions to fear wolves at their door." Robb said. The confidence in his voice carried over to the cheers of the crowd. That was only words though, and the real challenge lay ahead.

* * *

Morva Blackwood was a force to be reckoned with, as the bleary eyed yard master and the anxious merchants would attest, She had ordered her men to drag them out of bed in the dead of the night, and bring samples of everything stored at the yard. The tradesmen had even loaded donkeys with masts, oars, spars, and an entire sail along with more sensible items like nails, cloth, rope and pitch. Jon appreciated the thoroughness but he had no use for the larger items and without wagons, no way to carry them.

"How much cordage you have at the yard?" Jon asked.

"Cordage, ser?" the head merchant asked.

"He means ropes. We have a great deal - cords, ropes, rigging. There are hundreds of feet of rope needed for every boat to raise masts, sails, ladders and flags. We have ample supplies, and there are even boats that can raided if you need." The yard master said.

"And are there good men, who can work knots, and bring me every single bit of rope in the yard?" Jon asked. He wanted to work as quickly as possible.

"Yes, but ser….. we are tradesmen. This is our livelihood and we are not warriors. We do not wish to see a battle between armies." the merchant babbled.

"What are you saying? Are you refusing to help my father?" Brynden Blackwood asked, hot headed as any Umber or Karstark. Jon wondered if the Blackwoods had the wolf blood. Then again, the Blackwoods were exiled from the North in the Age of Heroes .

"Peace. He does not wish to risk his men in battle and he deserves compensation." Jon said. "House Stark would be grateful for your service. We would pay a handsome wage for men and supplies. I speak for Robb Stark and promise that we will not cheat you, nor will we be cheated. Your men will face no danger and would not go south. The more you help us now, the quicker the prisoners leave your lands and the sooner the Blackwoods can rescue their Lord Father."

"Thank you, ser." The merchant said. "We will bring men we can trust."

"As many as can be found. Make certain they know they will be paid fairly. Bring me all the rope and cordage. And any nails, pitch and cloth. We will buy it all." Jon said.

"But that is a very large amount, ser." The merchant said.

"We have an army. I will need all of it."

* * *

A bright gibbous moon was setting in the night sky, as Jon oversaw the multiple teams scrambling about the field : sailors unloading giant coils of rope off donkeys, a score of boys saddling horses, and soldiers separating the two groups of prisoners. The Northern Army had exited the whispering wood into the wide open fields of grass to the south. Only a few honor guards waited for their liege as Robb Stark said last goodbyes to Lady Blackwood and Jon Snow. The matron embraced her two older sons but Hoster would stay with Snow.

"You have only three and a half hours to sunrise, brother." Jon said.

"How can you measure the time so accurately at night?" Robb asked.

"By the moon. Aristarchus of Samos, an astronomer from Essos, charted the moonset versus the hours of the day. He also measured the distance from Planetos to the Sun although the mathematics are unproven." Jon said.

Robb nodded. He had certainly not learned that in lessons with Maester Luwin. "I am glad you are watching Jaime Lannister. I worry that Raventree Hall could not hold him."

"Do you suspect the Blackwoods of deception? Hoster says his father leads the garrison at Riverrun. If he worked for the Lannisters, the castle would have already fallen." Jon asked.

"I don't suspect the Blackwoods but the Lannisters are the wealthiest house in the Seven Kingdoms with a large army and great influence. Tywin Lannister does not know yet that we have his son but he will soon." Rob said.

"You fear bribery. That he would send a message to a bannerman promising riches and power if they return his son. Or threaten to destroy their house if they do not betray us. I believe that Lady Blackwood also feared such a threat. All the more reason we should keep Jaime at Riverrun. The Tullys will not be tempted by the Lannisters." Jon said.

"I can imagine how the Freys would receive such an offer." Robb said.

"Have you heard something?"

"Aye. Olyvar Frey - my squire. He tells me that Ryman Frey and his children are total shits. Ryman inherits after his father Stevron Frey, the oldest of Walder's sons. Olyvar says Ryman is worse than Walder Frey." Robb said. "The Freys continue to be a problem, Jon. They doubt my strategy and urge the other Lords to wait for our infantry."

"And how many battles have the Freys won?" Jon asked.

Robb smiled. "I have only won one battle."

"One more than the Freys." After they stopped chuckling, Jon spoke again. "You are doing the right thing, brother. You have the advantage, and that is when you must strike. You are a good battle leader and your army knows that. They look to you for leadership."

"They look to you also. The men wonder at your skills. They have never seen a maester like you." Robb said.

"I am not a maester. And there are no maesters like me. There's only me" Jon smirked. He paused for a moment. "I can bring the prisoners down, but I may have to do things you do not like. I cannot be kind. I need to be hard, even cruel. You may not wish to defend my actions."

Robb stopped him. "We are at war. I trust you brother. You will do what you must. We are not knights from songs or Robert Baratheon at the Ruby Ford. We are wolves. All we need is to bring Father and our sisters back."

"At the Citadel, I read the **Lives of the Four Kings**. Grand Maester Kaeth says a king can be too cruel, but also too kind and that can lead the realm to misery. A boy may be sweet, but a king must leave that behind. We cannot be green boys of summer." Jon said.

"We cannot. If we are too weak, Tywin Lannister will destroy us. I understand Jon. We need to be cruel to be kind. When Grey Wind meets Ghost, I will direct our dire wolves gut every scout at the North camp first. And then we will attack sleeping men."

"Kill the Boy and let the man be born." Jon said.

"Aye. We may be ten and six but we are not boys any longer. Too many people rely on us. I will free Riverrun by murdering as many Lannisters in their tents as possible." Robb said.

"And I will bring the prisoners down. They will not escape, not alive anyway." Jon said.

"Good luck, Snow." Robb mounted his brown courser. Jon waved a brief goodbye to his brother. There was a great deal to do.

* * *

Jon stood with Hoster Blackwood and Daryn Hornwood in front of scores of bound prisoners. A few hundred more were still guarded by men from Raventree Hall, but even those would be able to hear his words. The sailors and Winter Town boys waited expectantly as hundreds of horses snorted nearby, saddled and watered. Jon's hand crossbow was at his hip, secured by his belt. He turned to speak to the captives.

"I plan to ride to Riverrun. You will come with me, bound on a horse. If you should resist or try to escape, you will not live to regret it." Jon said.

A loud snort of derision came from a pale portly man with a small face and small pig like eyes. "And how you do you expect to do that, bastard? You only have a few dozen men - and most of those boys or cripples." That last comment was directed at Daryn Hornwood whose right arm was still in a sling. A few Lannister men laughed but most were quiet.

"And what is your name?" Jon asked.

"Ser Lorent Lorch." The man puffed up.

Jon saw a black manticore embroidered on his jerkin, and noted a nearby man at arms with the same piggish looks. Perhaps a natural son, or cousin, Jon thought. "So you are related to Amory Lorch?"

"He is my brother. And a finer knight you have never seen. Tywin Lannister favors our horse and the Old Lion will have his revenge if you harm me." Lorent bragged.

"I see." Jon motioned for two tired horses to be bought over. These were not the huge destriers that Ser Jaime and the best knights but smaller chargers for light cavalry. Two sailors grabbed Lorent Lorch and placed his hands bound behind with knots on the rear of the saddle while another handed Jon a long rope. "Boys, observe the knot carefully."

Jon tied the cord around the wrists, using the raised cantle as the post and brought the working end over the standing part. He continued behind Lorch's hands and then threaded the working end over the standing part again and under the riding turn, forming an overhand knot. He pulled firmly on the two ends, and it tightened, eliciting a yelp from Lorch. This was a constrictor knot, related to the clove hitches used by sailors to tie the shrouds of sailing ships. Slavers had perfected the knot in Essos and once tightened, it was extremely difficult for a prisoner to untie.

"I will escape, bastard. And then I will have your head. Or my brother will kill you a dozen times." Lorent raved.

"Like he did to Rhaenys Targaryen? Brave to kill a three year old." Jon said. Chett brought the second horse over and the sailors dragged the Lorch man at arms, forcing him into the saddle. Jon took both ends of the rope and brought it to the second horse, quickly tying the constrictor knot around the wrists and then a double knot about the second cantle. The rope was nearly taut and the distance between the two horses only a few feet.

"Maester Snow, shouldn't we use more rope to give more slack?" Chett asked.

"For the others, yes. But not this one." Jon said. He raised his crossbow and spoke to the crowd. "Now watch this escape." And then he shot the front horse in the rear with a bolt. The first horse squealed and bolted, while the second horse stood still. Lorch fell over the back of the saddle, smashing the ground, but it was the second man who screamed louder. The frenzied jerk had ripped his right arm off at the shoulder but his left was still attached to Lorch and the ropes connected to the second saddle. The unknown man flew forward in the air, as the second horse whinnied at the strong pull. Ser Lorch was being dragged on the ground, his face smashing against rocks, his bones breaking, pulling the now one armed man and then the second horse. A short and bloody trail could be seen, although it was hard to tell whether that blood belonged to the horse, Lorch or the second man. Jon reloaded the crossbow and shot a bolt, this time cleanly through the head of the first horse. The animal fell, and the second horse quieted down, now that the force was gone. Sailors cut the cord to salvage the second horse.

The second man bled out on the ground, blood pooling from the right shoulder socket. Lorent Lorch was barely alive, but both arms flopped uselessly, and his face was battered into mush, his mouth bloody and broken. Lorch had pissed and shat himself, and the dreadful smell and pitiful cries from the crippled knight elicited no sympathy.

"Tie the prisoners up. Lines of eight horses in a row, all hands bound at the wrists and cantles. Give them more slack than these two. Make the constrictor knots tight." Jon said to his crew as boys and sailors rushed to comply. No one paid any attention to Loren Lorch's motionless body.

* * *

Jon took charge of several prisoners directly - Jaime Lannister, Willem Lannister, Cleon Frey, and Tion Frey. He tied the knots himself, with Daryn Hornwood watching, a spear in his left hand. Willem grunted in pain from his broken arm when Jon pulled the knot tight. For Jaime, he used a double constrictor knot on the saddle and on the wrists. Even with a sharp knife, it would take many minutes to cut through.

"I thought we would be eight in a row." Jaime said. It was a weak jape, to show the younger cousins that the Kingslayer had no fear.

"Eight horses yes." Jon said. He loaded the back four with pitch, nails and rope. "If you attempt to run, you will drag your relatives to their death. And that's before we cripple your horse. I wonder if you lose a full arm or only the hand if you tried."

They finished quickly, as no prisoners resisted. The sailors were experts at knots and tied them with great skill. Jon thought for a moment about recruiting these men but he gave his word. He thanked the Lady Blackwood for her help but she looked stunned at the brutal efficiency of the operation. The lines of eight horses formed a row of thirteen. There were 5 rows with a few empty spots for tools and supplies. The Winter town boys rode on the outside, each equipped with a sharp spear, and a few rocks. They had orders to jab the horses at any escape attempt.

Hoster Blackwood came back with the merchant. Jon beckoned the workers to visit him, as Daryn stood guard over Jaime and his cousins. A few other Northmen also mounted, to guard the flanks and scout ahead. Jon paid the merchant thrity gold galleons for the rope and supplies. He promised more if the tradesmen could bring wagons of supplies to him after the battle. He gave twenty silver stags to each sailor, and many men thanked him profusely for the generosity. Finally Jon gave two golden dragons to the yard master, who promised that if House Stark had any need, he would be happy to serve.

Jon mounted the sturdy garron, and placed journals, weapons and supplies into the saddle bags. Hoster would carry the many ravens they needed, so he could keep his hands on the crossbow. The front line of prisoners were all valuable knights, lords and heirs. In an attempt to escape, the first rider of the line would suffer but had a better chance of survival. The prisoners in the middle would get ripped apart if the horses broke in multiple directions.

"We will maintain a steady trot. If anyone tries to escape, we will aim for the horses. All eight of you will be dragged or pulled, and your horse will still be tied to the other seven." Jon said.

"You clever cunning bastard." a dark haired man with a surcoat of seashells said. Gawen Westerling, Jon thought.

"If you wish to die, or become crippled, go ahead." Jon said. "It is your choice."

"There is no honor in this." A burly blond man, perhaps an Estren, said.

'Where was the Lannister honor when you burned and pillaged the Riverlands? How many smallfolk did you rape and kill?" Jon said.

"That was not us. That was the Mountain and sellswords." Tytos Brax said.

"Right - and Tywin Lannister did not give orders to burn the Riverlands. You are just innocents who were shocked that the Mountain's men loot and rape." Jon said. "Ride for Riverrun. And if you try to escape, I will make you pray for death." As Jon rode his garron over, he took a sharpened spear from Chett, and skewered Lorent Lorch through the back and the stomach. "Still alive. He will probably take six hours to die. I want to be at Riverrun before that."

The rows of horse cantered south.

* * *

They had gone less than an hour before Jaime Lannister spoke. The ride had been silent, and despite the fears of the prisoners, the horses had marched together well, without breaking stride. It was pitch black and they travelled only by starlight, and despite curious looks by Hoster Blackwood and Daryn Hornwood, the journey remained silent. Jon had urged all his companions to stay vigilant over the captives rather than talk.

"Bastard." Jaime Lannister yelled.

"Yes, Ser Jaime?" Jon asked.

Unable to turn fully on the horse, Jaime motioned with his head backwoods. Willem Lannister, a young blond haired youth, was struggling, his face pale and nearly slumping off the horse. His broken right arm clearly gave the boy troubles and Willem could not have been older than ten and four. "My cousin. His arm is broken." Jaime said.

"I know that - I bound the arm a few hours ago." Jon replied.

"If he rides like that for a day, he might never recover." Jaime said.

"So?" Jon said.

"He is thirteen years of age." Jaime said.

"And my brother Bran is ten years of age. Your family crippled him, and then they sent an assassin to kill him." Jon said.

"You have no proof." Jaime said.

"We have a Valyrian steel dagger left with the catspaw. Who would give a Valyrian steel dagger to kill a ten year old? That is why Lady Stark arrested Tyrion, which caused your father to unleash the Mountain on the Riverlands." Jon said.

"Tyrion had nothing to do with that. He wouldn't kill a child. And Willem is young. He is hurt." Jaime said.

"And what do you propose?" Jon said. "I swore to bring him to Riverrun."

"Let me ride next to him. And unstrap Willem, so his arm is not tied behind his back. You can keep his wrists bound, but at least in front. I can support him if he falls. I can ride with my hands behind my back." Jaime said.

That would make escape easier. Still, Willem looked in great pain. His horse was still tied to the six behind him, so Jon had no doubt he could run Willem down. On the other hand, Jaime was a far better horseman. Even if his horse was tied to Willem's side, there was a small chance the knight would escape, if he somehow miraculously managed to cut the ties.

"You can't trust the Kingslayer. He is a liar, an oathbreaker." Daryn Hornwood said. The Hornwood heir and Hoster Blackwood had edged their horses closer.

"By what right do you judge a lion?" Jaime shot back.

Jon snorted. "That is absurd. You judged Brynden Tully as a fool who would attack an army of fifteen thousand with a few hundred men. You judged Robb Stark as a green boy easily beaten. Why can't we judge a lion? Why are you so high and mighty? My father considered you an oathbreaker when he saw you with your bloody sword on the Iron Throne."

"Ah the honorable Ned Stark. Who brought a bastard back from Dorne. I am not ashamed of killing the Mad King. It was a noble act." Jaime said.

"It is not the killing of Aerys that stains your white cloak, ser. What of Rhaenys and Aegon? They were three and two. Why did you not defend them against your father's monsters? What knight allows the children and wife of his prince to be butchered?" Jon said.

"I did not know they would be attacked. I was in the throne room." Jaime said.

"A likely story, Kingslayer. Your father probably ordered you to stand by." Hornwood snorted.

"Ser Jaime, had you know that your father ordered the deaths of the two Targaryen children, would you have defended them?" Jon asked.

"Yes. I would have saved them. I regret their deaths. I failed Prince Rhaegar." Jaime said, the bitterness clear in his voice. "But that has nothing to do with Willem. I swear on my honor as a knight that I will not try to escape before Riverrun. Let me help my cousin."

Jon ignored the snort from Daryn Hornwood. "Swear it on the Targaryen children that you failed. Swear that you will not run."

Jaime Lannister made the oath. With a sharp knife, Jon sliced the rope connecting Jaime's horse. As the Kingslayer rode next to his ailing cousin, Jon took the remnants and tied a knot between the two pommels. He sliced the bindings about Willem's wrists and freed the injured right arm but bound the left wrist tightly to the rope connecting the two horses and the rope tied to the Freys. If Jaime fled, Willem's left arm would be injured far worse than his right.

"I see you do not trust easily." Jaime said.

"I trust you. But it is better to have less temptation than more." Jon said.

The blond boy shook with relief as his right arm dangled in front of his body, away from the knots of the rope. "Thank you…. my Lord." Willem Lannister said gratefully. He looked pale but there was less pain in the face. Jon looked at Jaime.

"Thank you… Maester." Jaime said with reluctance.

"I am neither a Lord or a maester. Remember your oath not to escape, Ser Jaime. And for you three." Jon turned to Willem, Cleos and Tion Frey. "Do not take this as a sign of weakness. If you run, you will suffer just like Lorch. I swear that."

The older Frey kept his head down but Tion Frey's gaze flickered from Willem's arm to Jon Snow. "Ser, what will happen to us? What do you intend to do with us?" The sandy blond asked. The Frey squire might look like a lion but he was more easily frightened.

"What do you think we will do?" Jon replied.

"The septons say the North believes in human sacrifice - that you will slit our throats and feed our blood to the weirwood trees." Tion said. The faces of Willem Lannister and Cleos Frey tightened with alarm but Jaime Lannister stayed quiet. The Kingslayer was made of sterner stuff, Jon thought, or at least, had a few ounces of common sense, unlike the younger cousins.

"And why exactly would we do that?" Jon said.

"The trees give you power. A seer can see through the faces carved in the trees, or visions. Maester Creylen says that the trees may allow a man to skin change into a beast." Tion said.

"Your maester is an idiot." Jon said. "If human sacrifice gave magical powers, people would do them all the time, not wait for a war. And if I wanted to feed your blood to a weirwood tree, I would go to Raventree Hall - not Riverrun."

"Our weirwood tree is dead, poisoned by the Brackens." Hoster Blackwood said.

"A terrible loss. The weirwood trees are not evil, or dark. They grew in Westeros long before the First Men came and were tended by the children of the Forest. What people did not know, they destroyed. It is a tragedy to have so much knowledge lost." Jon said.

"But thousands of years, men did offer blood sacrifices on weirwood trees." Hoster stammered.

"Was that the fault of the men or the trees?" Jon said. He turned to the Lannisters and the Freys. "You are worth more to House Stark alive than dead. If your families are sensible, it will stay that way."

* * *

They continued in silence for another hour. Jon stayed alert, eyes alternating from Jaime Lannister to the multiple rows and lines of men on horses. In the darkness, it was hard to identify faces but there was little doubt the column was moving in a steady and coordinated manner. The prisoners, even the proudest Lords, had given them little trouble, because even a single escape could cause deadly ripples in the lines of eight.

Robb would be almost at Riverrun, Jon thought. He pushed his consciousness and reached for Ghost. The white wolf was not frenetic like his big brother, or as wild as his little sister. Ghost was silent but as deadly as any of the litter mates and a fully grown dire wolf could kill anything but a dragon. Jon could feel the hunger building, the desire to hunt, to kill with the pack.

Jon tasted blood in his mouth, rich and sweet. He bit the back of the neck of a guard and the bite snapped clear through the bones that supported the skull. Grey Wind was at his side, ripping apart another soldier's face, as blood gushed on the grass. Easy prey. The packmates moved to another patrol, running so quickly that both white and grey blurred in the predawn light. Grey Wind sprang, knocking the first man down and lowering his bloody jaws. As the second man turned, Ghost's teeth snapped on the exposed throat, and no alarm was raised. In a few minutes, Ghost and Grey Wind slaughtered a dozen guards, and the Northern Camp was silent. The packmates loped north to find Grey Wind's human. Robb Stark waited, thousands of horsemen standing by, ready to charge with the dire wolves at his side.

"Maester Snow?" Hoster Blackwood's hesitant voice broke into Jon's thoughts. "It is almost sunrise."

Jon nodded. Hoster handed over the cages of ravens. The black birds woke from their slumber, eyes alert for the scraps of parchment in his pouch. Ravens ate the dead and they would feast well tonight. The reward fit the task: to summon more fighters into the battlefield

After attaching the notes, Jon released the birds. Stony Hedge, Wayfarer's Rest, Acorn Hall, Pinkmaiden, Atranta. Robb had written to the Riverlords loyal to the Tullys and asked them to ride that morning for battle. Even as Robb attacked from the North and the Blackfish from the West, the river men would seal off the South and the East, and destroy the Lannister host.

"My men have orders to shoot down any ravens." Jaime blustered.

"Your men will be too busy dying to worry about birds." Jon said. He could taste blood in his mouth again, and hear the faint screams of the dying. In his mind's eye, he was at Grey Wind's side, and the two dire wolves were killing Lannister men and horses with abandon.

"Maester Snow?" Hoster squeaked.

"I am not a Maester, Hoster. Just call me Jon."

"Jon, Chett tells me you studied at the Citadel for four years. When did you know you wanted to be a Maester?" Hoster asked.

"Lord Stark forced me to go to Oldtown. I never wanted to be a Maester." Jon said. 'The only thing I wanted was to fight by the side of my brother, Robb Stark. So I should thank the Lannisters for such an opportunity."

"Be careful what you wish for. My father is a great battle commander." Jaime said.

"Your father - Tywin Lannister? What battles did he win?" Jon said.

""He is feared and respected by everyone. The Rains of Castemere celebrates..." Jaime said.

"He destroyed two houses. He burned Tarbeck Hall and drowned men, women and children in the mines of Castamere. I heard that he had at least three times as many men as Roger Reyne. Does it take a great military mind to defeat a force one third of your size?" Jon asked.

"He has other victories to his name." Jaime said.

"Yes, he sacked King's Landing when the gates were opened through treachery. His great feat was to kill Elia Martell and two young children. What did he actually do in the Greyjoy Rebellion? Lannisport was burned in the first strike, so the Lannisters had no ships. Stannis Baratheon and Paxter Redwyne defeated the Iron Fleet, and as for the invasion on Pyke, the IronBorn are shit fighters on land." Jon said.

"My father has never lost a war." Jaime said.

"He never fought against the Starks in battle." Jon replied.

* * *

A crash could be heard a few lines over. Jon turned his head away from Jaime to see a knight with the sigil of a silver helm on a green and black field lunging awkwardly for Denys. He rode over quickly. Denys was fending off the knight with a spear, and Jon noted that he was the fourth rider in the line of eight captives.

"What happened here?" Jon asked.

"I didn't tie the knot well enough. He managed to get his right hand out, and then he grabbed for me when I was close." Denys said.  
"Why didn't you just jab the horse?" Jon asked.

"Maester, if I did that, all the other men and boys would die." Denys said, still shaking from his close escape. Jon aimed the crossbow at the riderless horse, ignoring the fear on the faces of the other prisoners.

"I die proudly for the Lannisters and Casterly Rock!" The red headed man yelled defiantly.

Jon lowered the crossbow. "A martyr. And what is your name?"

"Ser Damon Broom. My family has served Casterly Rock for two hundred years. Do your worst. Tywin Lannister will hear about this." the man spat. "I hope he does." Jon shot a bolt in the man's right knee and Ser Damon cried in agony. Jon dismounted, and he slashed through the rope behind the knight, leaving two groups of four horses. The steel tip of the quarrel stuck out of the back of the knee but the goose feather fletching remained at the front of the leg. "Chett, tie both arms at the wrists to the rope. Make certain that it is tight."

"Please. We didn't try to escape." The riders on the horses in front of Ser Damon Broom pleaded. There were two knights and a squire, and all three wore different sigils. None of them were Lannisters. Jon reloaded the crossbow.

The red headed knight moaned with pain, his face on the ground. Jon checked the knots to ensure that Chett had corrected Denys's error. He turned to the three horses in front, levelling the crossbow at the middle horse. "Ride or die." The line of four horses started again, at a brisk trot, pulling the prisoner to his feet. The knight screamed as the injured right leg hit the ground, leaving a bloody trail. The horses could outpace even the fastest runner and the injured knight had no chance. In a minute, Ser Broom was being dragged on his knees, and his howls of agony filled the night.

"Does anyone else care to walk?" Jon asked the prisoners. No one answered, and few were even brave enough to meet his eyes. He rode back to keep an eye on the Lannisters and Freys.

"Ser Damon's father was my Master at Arms at Casterly Rock." Jaime said.

"He wanted to die proudly. I granted him his wish." Jon said. "No doubt the Lannister bards will write a song for his bravery." He spoke loudly to be heard over Ser Broome's screams.

"Ned Stark would never do such a thing." Jaime said, eyeing Jon Snow carefully.

"I am not Ned Stark. And neither is my brother, Robb. Joffrey Lannister imprisoned my father and my sisters. We will not forget that. Robb Stark and I do not care about the riches of the Westerlands or Tywin Lannister's reputation or that you fuck the Queen. We care about the crimes of your house against our family. Do Lannisters pay their debts? A great deal is owed to House Stark, and Robb and I will collect on it." Jon said.

There was nothing more to say, and the only noise left as morning rose were the sounds of Ser Broome begging for mercy. It took hours for the knight to die.

* * *

Jon smelled the carnage even before he could see the smoke. The camps were burning, and ravens had flocked to the battleground to feast. Eagles and hawks had joined their smaller brethren in devouring the dead. He reached out for Ghost, slipping into the bond with ease. The white wolf and his brother rested, and even Grey Wind had burned off his frenzy. Five hours of killing would do that. If Ghost had relaxed, the North had won the battle. Grey Wind would never be at peace if any risk remained for Robb.

Jon shook off the budding malaise of complacency. Generals had died on the verge of triumph and princes had been usurped on the eve of coronation. The greatest danger often occurred at the moment of victory, and Jon would not fail his brother. He urged Daryn Hornwood and Hoster Blackwood to remain vigilant. He rode to his Winter Town crew to remind them to stay disciplined as they neared the Tully castle. And most importantly, he watched over the four captives. The Kingslayer had kept his oath, directing his energy in the past few hours to supporting his cousins. Jaime Lannister had been accused of many sins but the man was not without honor. Still, Jon kept his crossbow cocked and checked the bindings again, while the Lion of Lannister smirked.

The sandstone walls of Riverrun came into view and Jon heard the rushing waters of the Tumblestone as they passed the final hill. The tents on the Northern side were destroyed and bodies littered the grounds, many barely half dressed. Over a thousand Stark bannermen and horses milled about in the camps, and half a dozen wrecked rafts tied to the north bank. He could see thousands more south of the river, and there were several new banners - a pink dancing maiden in a swirl of white silk, black dragons and white towers, a dark plowman on a brown field, and six brown acorns on a yellow field. On the castle walls, dozens of men rained arrows down on a corner of the field. The battle was not over, Jon thought, even if the victory seemed apparent.

"We have done it, Ser. We reached Riverrun." an excited Hoster Blackwood said. Lady Mormont and Wylis Manderly came over, and their men tended to the prisoners. No one voiced any concerns for their treatment or the enormous amount of rope that connected horse to captive to horse to captive, like a malignant spider web.

Jon had left the Whispering Wood with five hundred captives. Four hundred and ninety seven had made it to Riverrun in six hours, unwounded besides the bruising on the wrists. Kill the boy, and let the man be born. Had he been less cruel, more would have died. He wondered if anyone would ever believe his actions to be merciful. _I did it - I dragged them down, and these are the most valuable to our cause - Ser Jaime, but also Lord Banefort, Lord Westerling, Lord Estren, Willem Lannister and the Freys._ Jon wondered how Eddard Stark would react to his actions.

"Denys, make a splint for Willem Lannister's right arm. Come, Ser Jaime. Robb Stark will want to see you." Jon walked behind the Kingslayer, looking for a way to cross the river. Behind him, Northern men and boys relieved the Winter Town crew, and forced the prisoners to the ground, unloading the horses. After a few quick words, the heir of Hornwood and Hoster Blackwood followed Jon to the Tumblestone.

* * *

"Oi, Snow!" Jorelle Mormont, hailed him, mace in hand as she and her older sister watched over a score of disarmed knights.

"I captured a prancing purple unicorn too." Lyra said, pointing to a bruised middle aged man who looked like a drowned seal, if a seal wore plate armor and frowned through his mustache.

"The idiot tried to cross the river in a raft right into our attack. The men in the castle threw rocks and half the rafts tipped over. He was lucky the Mormonts were there to drag his fat ass out of the river." Jory said.

"I think that is the father of the knight you captured, Jory." Jon said.

"Like father, like son. What a bunch of idiots these Westerners are." Lyra snorted. Jon smiled at the fierceness of the she-bears.

"What happened in the battle? Why are you not helping Robb south of the river?" Daryn Hornwood asked.

"This is the strangest castle ever. There is a Water Gate on the North side, but to cross, you need a boat." Jory pointed to a wide arch and heavy iron portcullis, half covered in water. "The Blackfish took most of the Rivermen and the Umbers to attack the West side while we attacked from the North. And in the middle of the morning, more horns blew from the South and the East. House Piper, House Vance, Smallwood and Goodbrook knights."

Lyra continued the tale. "We destroyed the first camp with ease. But we couldn't cross the river. Lord Stark sent a thousand horsemen to follow the Blackfish to a bridge many miles downstream and the castlemen brought boats through the Water Gate. Manderly men and the Flint sailors of Widow's Watch bought men and horses to the castle but it took a long time. If we could attack the West and South from the North, the Lannisters would have lost in the first hour."

That was true. But if Jaime Lannister had not been forced to divide his forces into three, Robb's bold attack would have faced twice his men. Jon had no doubt his brother would win but the casualties would be much higher. "So what is left? How many Lannister men are left in the South and West?" Jon asked.

"The turds to the South surrendered or ran away. But there are still over a thousand holdouts in the West." Jory pointed to a clump of footmen and horse in a triangle at the corner of the Tumblestone and the sluice gate. The third leg was surrounded by Northmen but the enemy had formed a shield wall, and mounted cavalry with lances guarded both ends. Heavy shields were placed on the ground and over their heads, deflecting a steady shower of arrows. Spears, mounted and on foot, were set against any charge. Robb had greater numbers but the remaining Lannisters, Estrens, and Crakehalls intended to sell their lives dearly. Cavalry alone would find it difficult to break through the forest of shields and spears.

"Get me over to Robb. Ser Jaime, you shall accompany me. Hoster, ask Chett and Clydas to bring me rope and pitch." Jon said.

* * *

Jon walked off the raft, with a small crew of armed men and women guarding the Kingslayer. Hoster and Chett had followed, with several other boys carrying large jars of pitch, and coils of rope slung over their backs. An entire mass of lords and heirs surrounded Robb. Jon mused at his brother's ability to effortlessly attract followers. Lyra and Jory waved at their big sister Dacey and Hoster ran ahead to join a smiling Brynden and Lucas and a tall man with a salt and pepper beard, a hooked nose, and a magnificent raven feather cloak. That person could only be their father, Tytos Blackwood.

"Jon." Robb called and the crowd parted as he went to his brother's side. "I see you have brought the Kingslayer."

"And almost five hundred other prisoners. How goes the battle?" Jon asked. Many eyes watched the two brothers. He was familiar with the Greatjon and the honor guard but not with all the Rivermen. There was a handsome knight with a wine stain birthmark, a short bow legged redhead with hands on hips and a shabby man with dirty clothes and bruises on his face, being held up on both sides by the Blackfish and Tytos Blackwood. From the auburn hair and blue eyes, Jon deduced that was Edmure Tully, Robb's uncle.

"The North is clear. Lord Mallister, reinforced with Piper and Vance troops, are chasing down Forley Prester's spearmen to the East. House Bracken send a raven, saying they will cut off the escape. The Tyroshi sellswords have surrendered and are willing to fight for us. There is still fifteen hundred infantry and a few hundred horse on the Western side. We have told them to surrender but they refuse." Robb said.

Jaime Lannister snorted, pointing out the brindled black and white boar. Even captive, the golden knight retained a sense of command and grandeur. "House Crakehall is famed for being stubborn. Their motto is None So Fierce and Lord Roland Crakehall has three sons. He will not bend the knee willingly."

"We can just wait them out. They will have to charge us at some point." Ryman Frey said.

"Why would they charge?" The Greatjon sneered. "They have fresh water. They could make a stand for hours, even days. We have no infantry to attack a shield wall."

"We could force the Kingslayer to ask them to yield." Ryman said.

"Go fuck yourself, Frey." Jaime said. Smalljon Umber chortled and several other Northmen barely contained their laughter.

"Lord Stark, isn't the answer obvious? Riverrun must have scorpions and catapults. Why not just bombard the shieldwall with artillery?" Jon asked.

Edmure Tully turned his eyes to the ground and the other Rivermen looked embarrassed. Tytos Blackwood sighed and spoke "Riverrun is not well stocked for a siege. The Maester has not maintained the siege weapons well. We threw our last few stones this morning. Had you not come in a few months, our supply of food would be gone."

Jon stopped himself from raising an eyebrow. The garrison left at the castle was small. If there had not been enough food for four months, the Rivermen were truly not prepared for war.

"I still say we charge them. They killed Lord Vance at the Golden Tooth. His son deserves revenge." the short fat red head said. Jon noted that the knight with the wine stain birthmark ignored the looks of sympathy from the crowd.

"Many men will die. That charge would be bloodier than our entire victory so far." Robb said.

"Lord Stark, I can force them to bend the knee." Jon said.

Robb ignored the surprise on the faces of the Rivermen. "Jon, how many men will you need?"

Jon looked around the battlefield, littered with wagons, tents, and three large wooden towers, built hastily by the Lannister host. The siege towers were forty feet high, which would be impressive, had the walls not been fifty feet tall and surrounded by a substantial moat. "Six or so. But strong men like Smalljon Umber and Eddard Karstark." The Umber heir preened and flexed his bulging biceps while Jon walked off to prepare.

* * *

A crowd of Northmen gathered around as Jon instructed Chett, Clydas and several other boys. They clambered up the first siege tower like monkeys, daubing the pitch in strategic areas. The drawbridge on the West Gate was open and a steady stream of wood bundles and dry straw shuttled out to the field.

"Why exactly did you build these siege towers?" Jon asked.

"It is a siege. You need siege towers." Jaime said.

"They are shorter than the walls. And how exactly did you plan to cross the moat?" Jon asked.

The Kingslayer shrugged. "I assumed they could build them higher with time."

"The Lannister army has shit siege engineers. Boys, pay attention." A crowd of river men and northmen had gathered but the boys of Winter Town paid closest attention as Jon pointed to the bottom boards of the siege tower. "This is poorly constructed. The foundation needs to be larger and in a strong wind, the tower would tip. Or if it got hit by a large enough trebuchet missile. There is also not much space for a boarding plank or catapults."

"Maester Snow, how tall could you build a siege tower?" Chett asked.

"Good question. With enough wood, clay and men - at least seventy five feet high. I would build a massive ramp with earth and wooden supports to drag scorpions and onagers to the top. I imagine only a few castles could resist - Dragonstone, Storm's End." Jon mused.

"Could you take Casterly Rock?" Jaime asked curiously.

"Without trickery? You would need a serious advantage in numbers but it is possible. With trebuchets and attack by sea and land." Jon said. "In any case, we end this farce now."

The Umbers attached thick ropes to the base of the siege tower and dragged it next to the remaining resistance. Jon stood on the second floor of the tower. "Lannister men, surrender or die." Jon said. Catcalls and hoots of derision came from the Westermen. Jon shrugged and stepped down the steps.

He lit a torch dipped in pitch and dropped it on the bottom platform piled with straw and wood. Copious quantities of pitch were smeared on the walls and every floor contained flammable material. Puffs of smoke began to appear on the top of the tower.

Jon took a short axe and chopped at the supports facing the Lannister men. Eddard Karstark, and Rodrik Forrester hacked at the other side and soon the tower began to list, even as flames flickered on the outside.

The siege tower began to burn. Jon turned to Jaime Lannister. "It is not too late, you can save them. They fought for you."

Jaime Lannister nodded and spoke. "Lord Crakehall, the Northmen are serious. They will burn your men."

A giant of a man, as tall as the Greatjon, with a big booming voice and thick black muttonchips responded. "None so fierce, Lannister. None so fierce."

Two teams of Northmen, one headed by Eddard Karstark and the other by Smalljon Umber, grabbed the rope tied to the long poles on the two front sides. The tower erupted in fire, and with a great heave, fell on the top of the shield wall. The horses bolted in panic first, mad from pain, and the screams of men followed as they began to burn. The shield wall disintegrated. The second and the third siege towers was pulled closer, and Jon ordered the crew to dip ropes, straw and wood into pots of thick dark pitch to feed the inferno. The smell of burning flesh pervaded the field.

"Stop, Stop." Lord Crakehall cried. "We surrender, we surrender."

"Throw down your weapons." Jon said. The remaining Lannisters, Crakehalls, and Estrens rushed to comply, although some had already jumped into the river to avoid the flames. Jon turned to Robb and the two dire wolves, staring at the fire. "Lord Stark, Riverrun is yours."

* * *

Author's Notes -

Romans did have siege weapons, and very impressive ones. Even as early as 305 BC, they built a tower 135 feet high. They also built giant ramps where they literally could run over city walls. They were experts at fast siege warfare.

I am not certain the quality of naval pitch in Roman times but they did have naval stores. I was tempted to use paint but Roman paint was not oil based. The pitch for wooden ships however was highly flammable. Most sailors knew how to put out fires and sails were often kept soaked to make sure the ship didn't go on fire.

Jon is not Ned Stark. Within the limits of honor, Jon and Robb will do what it takes to win the war.


	9. Old Sins Remembered

**Old Sins Remembered**

Three men and a woman, sharing a strong family resemblance of bushy eyebrows, curly hair and deep blue eyes, entered Riverrun to the cheers of soldiers and smallfolk. Two of the men, an older man whose auburn hair had long turned gray and one younger man with a strong stocky build, wore plate mail and long swords. The third man attempted a smile but his dirty clothes and the caked blood on a scraggly red beard betrayed his recent captivity. The woman, dressed in a woolen dress of red and blue under her grey cloak, nodded to the crowd, her face full of emotion for the liberation of her family home.

The Tullys had returned to Riverrun. Two were Starks - one by marriage, and one by birth - but their glossy red brown hair made clear their heritage. There was polite clapping for Edmure, admiration for the Blackfish and the Lady Catelyn but the most fervent cheers were saved for the man of the hour: Robb Stark. Shouts of the Young Wolf came from all directions and the Rivermen celebrated with abandon. They had been humiliated by the Lions and welcomed Robb as a saviour, the conquering hero returning with soldiers and prisoners.

At the Citadel, Jon read every single scrap of parchment he could find on the birth of ancient Valyria. Before they tamed dragons, the Valyrians had been shepherds on a rocky peninsula, far from the wealth and decadence of the great cities of Essos. As they rose, Valyria fought five great wars with the Old Empire of Ghis, with its shadow binders, lock step legions, and manticore riders. The Citadel claimed that the dragons made the Ghiscari wars a foregone conclusion but Jon suspected that was a lie, told by the victors. The Old Empire founded by Grazdan the Great was a dangerous enemy and had ruled Essos with magic and cruelty for four thousand years. The Good Masters, Wise Masters and Great Masters cared nothing of wasting hundreds of thousands of lives - sellswords and slave soldiers - against the upstart Freehold.

In the early days, when the Freehold was a true republic, generals were chosen by the dragon riders to command the small armies of Valyria against the vast hordes of Ghis. The victorious leaders would be granted a triumph - to fly their dragon over the topless towers of Old Valyria and offer a sacrifice at the Temple of Io on Capitoline Hill, between the Fields of War and the Cradle of Fire. And as the general basked in the adoration of crowds, the plunder of war, and enemy leaders awaiting their fate, a slave would hold a golden crown and whisper "**memento mori**" - remember that you will die.

And they were mortal. The forty great families of Valyria fought and killed each other as well as any Faceless Man could. Most generals died within a few years of their triumph, often with the help of their allies. Victory was fleeting but defeat lasted forever. Jon wondered why in light of so many examples, that was entirely forgotten after battle.

"Why aren't you with them?" Jory Mormont said, pointing to her sister Dacey, the Smalljon, Brynden Blackwood and Patrek Mallister walking behind the Tullys. Jon counted at least three dozen heirs and knights of the guard following Robb, like a puppy in a pack.

"I wasn't at the Battle of Riverrun." Jon said.

"Neither was Daryn Hornwood, and he is still preening" Lyra said. The Hornwood heir basked in the cheers.

"Daryn Hornwood deserves the praise. He fought hard against Ser Jaime Lannister. " Jon said. The knight in question snorted derisively, giving a clear opinion on Hornwood's fighting skills. "Besides, the Tullys see me as a blight on Lady Stark's honor."

"Who cares about the Tullys? You are a Stark of Winterfell. They should be grateful that you marched South with your bannermen." Jory said.

And that was the problem. Catelyn Stark worried that Jon would become THE Stark of Winterfell, and usurp his brothers and sisters. "There are more important things than a parade. I need to speak to the Maester of the castle." Jon said.

The Mormont girls looked at each other before nodding. "We will come with you." Lyra said.

"I was hoping you could guard Jaime Lannister instead." Jon said.

"We can do both. We will bring him with us." Jory said brightly.

Jon sighed. It was early in the afternoon and with the battle over, the she-bears had little to do. House Mormont had been helpful, and he could see no reason to turn them down. "Fine, but I will do the talking."

* * *

The Maester's room was a small dark triangle, only a few doors past a large room, guarded by several Tully men in silver fish helms. Jon guessed that would be the castle solar and was surprised that it was unused. Surely, Hoster Tully would welcome his oldest grandson and daughter after the victory.

Jon walked in with Chett, Jaime Lannister, and the two Mormonts. An old man with white hair and lined withered hands tended to Edmure, checking scrapes and bruises. A long chain hung down over the red tunic with the most prominent links being silver, bronze, copper and gold. This maester was skilled in the practical arts of helping the lord manage the castle.

"Kingslayer." The golden knight shrugged and didn't bother to respond. "You are now our captive." Edmure Tully rasped.

"I am Robb Stark's prisoner - not yours. I beat your men bloody - at the Golden Tooth and Riverrun. You would never have managed to capture me." Jaime said. The Lion still had claws, even if he merely stated the facts.

Before an argument could break out, Jon turned to the old man. "You are the Maester?"

"I am Maester Vyman. I have served at the castle for a decade."

The man was at least sixty years of age. Jon wondered where Vyman served before Riverrun. The Citadel claimed to care nothing for power and politics but that half truth concealed a great deal of lies. "I am Jon Snow. There are many men who need healing. What supplies and herbs do you have in stock?"

Vyman went over to a shelf of half full clay and glass jars. The thick white liquid was milk of the poppy and there were two flasks of dreamwine. Besides that, Jon saw and smelled very little - a bit of pale red firemilk, mustard seeds and nettles, and a few sticks of willow's bark. A half a dozen fat leeches slithered in a shallow pan of water. There were no bunches of kingscopper, penny royal or sour leaf.

"What of bandages or dressings? Do you have honey or vinegar?" Jon asked. The Maester shook his head. "I have been busy preparing milk of the poppy and dreamwine. But we have little else. We ran out of wound dressings when the Lannister army attacked."

Jon narrowed his eyes. Milk of the poppy needed to be made fresh every few days. The opiate was powerful but effective, given only to those mortally wounded or in great pain. That jar would certainly not be used to treat soldiers. Jon knew the maester had been trapped in the castle for the last month, but the lack of supplies was pathetic.

"You must not think poorly of Maester Vyman. He is a skilled healer, but not prepared for a siege." Edmure said.

"That sounds like all the Tullys." Jaime quipped to Edmure's anger.

"Where can I get herbs, thread, or dressings?" Jon asked.

"There is a wood witch near the castle village. She treats smallfolk and Sallies who work at the brothel." Vyman said.

After Jon thanked the Maester, a corpulent warrior dressed in green and gray burst into the room. He had never thought Wylis Manderly could move so quickly.

"Maester Snow, you must come. Wendel was injured in the battle." Wylis said, gasping for air. Several other Northerners, Eddard Karstark and the Smalljon Umber, followed him in, albeit more leisurely. Lyra and Jory greeted their eldest sister with pleasure.

"I cannot help without supplies, Ser. Vyman has told me of a healer that may have herbs and dressings. She resides in the village. I will go there at once." Jon said.

"There still may be Lannister men lurking around. We will accompany you." Eddard said

"Aye, Lord Stark would be furious if you were hurt. He wanted you to join in the celebrations, and his private meeting with Hoster Tully." Smalljon said. Jon doubted that the other Tullys would be as receptive.

"I will come as well." Dacey said. "Can't let my little sisters have all the fun."

"What about me? Do you plan to drag me around to buy herbs, Snow?" Jaime complained.

"Absolutely not. You will stay under guard near the castle. Chett, tell the other boys to boil water and start fires, and build wood pallets. We will treat patients outside in the yard - no tower has enough space. Ser Jaime, at the Whispering Wood, you helped with the Lannister prisoners. If I have enough supplies, I will heal them as well - so let them know that. Ser Wylis, please attend to Jaime Lannister and help bring the injured to Chett and his boys. I will treat Ser Wendel as soon as I secure supplies." Jon said.

"Maester, Lord Stark wishes to speak to you." Smalljon Umber said.

"It will have to wait until I find bandages and medicine. Robb would want the men healed first." Jon said simply. Ned Stark had trained his children well, and Jon knew that Robb valued the well-being of Wendel Manderly and other bannermen before a chat.

* * *

The fields were full of Silent Sisters, giving last rites. Their grey shrouds and cowled faces made Jon uneasy, as did the wagons loaded with the dead. Thousands of bodies littered the fields and Jon, accompanied by the Smalljon, Eddard Karstark, and the three Mormonts, rode by on their horses. As he heard the shrieks of the wounded and saw the burnt fields and ripped tents streaked with dried blood, Jon thought of the terrible hardships of battle, even for the victors. War was not glory but hell. Ending the war quickly, with the least loss of life, was the correct goal. To do so safely, they needed to bring the Old Lion to his knees.

They burst into a clearing of dirty makeshift tents and saw several men with greedy eyes and sour faces. A small blond boy, perhaps ten and two, cried for help as an ugly pale man brandished a knife at a woman dressed in peasant clothes backed into a corner. She looked older but Jon realized that was from her drab dress and the gray shawl over her dark hair. Several young girls, some barely older than the blond boy, and children cowered as a dour black haired man with steel greaves over his legs watched without emotion. The ripped dresses made it quite clear what these men intended.

"What is going on here?" Jon asked. "Lord Stark ordered that smallfolk to not be harmed."

"Begging your pardon, these are Lannister camp followers. We are just going to have a bit of fun with them." Ramsey Dustin said.

"My mother isn't a camp follower. She just sells herbs and medicine." the boy said.

Jon looked over the brightly dressed girls with their soft skin and long hair in curly ringlets. The older woman was not a whore but the younger ones were likely paid companions. "They are not to be harmed. You will not rape any women and children, whether they follow the Lannisters or not." Jon said cooly.

Ramsey turned his colorless eyes away from the wood witch, a crazed smirk on his face . The man with the steel greaves drew a greatsword with both of his gauntleted hands. The other soldiers backed away from the girls but kept their weapons ready.

"Steelshanks Walton. You are Roose Bolton's man. What are you doing with these thieves and rapers?" Smalljon asked.

A white dire wolf, teeth bared in a silent snarl, appeared next to the children, and the Mormonts urged their mounts forward, flanking Ramsey. Eddard Karstark rode up as well, his long axe between Jon and the greatsword.

"We won't bother you, Snow, but men have their needs." Ramsey stalked off, and the men followed. Steelshanks retreated last, his weapon covering their escape.

"I thought Steelshanks would be marching with the other Bolton men from the Twins." Smalljon said.

They wore no sigils of the flayed man but Jon was certain that they followed Ramsey Dustin and not Walton. "Are you the wood witch?" Jon asked.

The gray woman had hugged the blond boy, softly whispering into his ear. "Yes, Ser. Aysha, my Lord. I sell herbs and potions." she said.

"I am no Lord or Ser. What do you have in stock?" Jon said.

"Tansy, wormwood, penny royal." She started.

"I have no need for moon tea. What do you have that can heal?" Jon said.

"Many things, ser. I have mustard seeds, Kingscopper and sour leaf. I have bearberry, marigold and yarrow leaves." Aysha said.

"How much herbs do you have? And would you have bandages or vinegar?" Jon asked.

The blond boy escaped her arms, his bright green eyes suspicious. "Are you going to pay? Or will you just steal my mother's belongings?"

"Gerry." the woman said sharply with a tinge of fear. "Pardon, ser. My son spoke out of turn."

Jon chuckled. 'You are a bold lad. Aye, I will pay and more. I need willing helpers to harvest more herbs and medicines. Tell me, are there other plants nearby? Is there aloe or sphagnum moss or goldenrod?"

"I am not certain of the names. Bring me the book." Aysha said. The boy took out a worn illustrated manuscript from a chest, and Jon's eyes rose in surprise when he read the title.

"You have a copy of Dioscorides's work **De Materia Medica**? There is only one edition at the Citadel and even that is incomplete. Although I have heard Essosi healers have translated the work into multiple languages." Jon said.

"Mother, is this aloe?" The boy pointed to a picture of a flowering green plant with thick fleshy orange and red leaves. "The book says the sap can treat burns and wounds. The plant grows in the sandbars of the Red Fork." He said smugly.

"Impressive." Jon said, commenting both on the book, and the twelve year old's ability to read. "And who are these other children here? Are they also your helpers?"

"The girls are camp followers but they are not loyal to the Lannisters. And this is Satin." Aysha put her arm around a boy who was as pretty as any girl, with dark eyes, soft skin, and raven ringlets. "Satin watches over the children of the ladies."

"That is not a name common to the Riverlands." Jon said. Satin was a weave made of silk, a fabulously expensive item. In the Reach, only the Hightowers and the Tyrells could afford such a luxury. The traders from Yi Ti bragged often about how soft and light a pure silk dress could be - not the adulterated silk and wool blends peddled to the nobility.

"I grew up in a brothel in Oldtown, my Lord. I was forced to flee when there was trouble." Satin said in a sweet voice, more suited for a bard.

"I have been teaching Satin how to read and write." Gerry said.

"I will pay for your assistance. Copper stars for bunches of herbs, particularly aloe. I would need thread and dressings, and would buy all the honey, vinegar, and moss you could supply. I would pay ten silver stags." Jon said.

"For how many helpers? And for how long - a week? A month?" The blond boy prodded.

"Ten stags a day. For any of you. If you can tend wounds, and feed patients, you are welcome to work. And I would pay extra for any herbs gathered, and would be happy for you to make introductions to smallfolk who could sell honey and vinegar. I know not how many days, but I would expect at least a sennight." Jon said to the looks of wonder in the crowd. Seventy stags for a week was generous pay for smallfolk, particularly children. Even for a whore, it was more than they could earn for two days on their backs.

"And how do we know you will pay? You might claim we provided poor service." The blond boy said. He was a fierce child, and Jon wondered if he had a touch of the wolf's blood. That was unlikely given the bright blond hair and green eyes.

Jon took out a fat purse, clinking with coins. He had spent much on rope and pitch but there were still two dozen gold dragons left. "I will give fifty silver stags now to each of you, for five days of work. Aysha, I will buy all the herbs you have now for two golden dragons, and I would like you to show Satin and the others how to find more. I swear on my father's honor that I will keep our agreement. In fact, I also need to pay my Winter Town crew for their good work over the past few weeks. They are smallfolk too. Come to the castle. You will have meat and bread, and a place by my side."

The fear on Aysha's face disappeared amidst the eagerness of her son and the whores. Jon had questions of course. Even a damaged and incomplete copy of **De Materia Medica** was worth twenty gold dragons. How could a wood witch afford that? And a twelve year old who could teach others literacy - that was unusual. Jon had read the entire Winterfell Library twice over by the age of eleven, but he had never been normal. He was an obsessive reader and swallowed books whole under candlelight. Jon read less now than before, but only because his time was spent on practical knowledge and experiments. He shook off his thoughts. The mystery of Aysha and her son would have to wait.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky when Jon finished the last surgery on the broken leg of a Westerling knight. There were more men to be seen and injuries to fix, but he had attended to the most severe, and there was no space left in the courtyard. Hundreds of men were lying flat on crude beds, although Chett and Denys had cleverly put like injuries together. There were many more with minor hurts, but Jon thought they could be easily seen tomorrow.

Jon was quite pleased tonight by a new discovery. At one point, he had run out of honey and apple vinegar. Riverrun made its own wine, from small tart grapes grown on the Quiet Island, a hundred miles to the East where the Saltpans met the Bay of Crabs. The wine was rather poor but Jon knew that grape skin, like vinegar, had acidic qualities. He had taken a few barrels of must - the grape juice containing stems, seeds and skins - cooked it over an open fire and combined it with vinegar. The resulting liquid, thicker and sweeter, worked well to clean wounds and fight infection. It even tasted better than vinegar, despite being just as acidic.

If they were not at war, Jon would have experimented to produce this product in mass. Anything that would make meals sweet could be sold throughout the Seven Kingdoms and perhaps even Essos. He wondered what Owen and Alleras would say to this invention. Perhaps in their next dinner, he would show how the condiment could brighten Northern cuisine, so it wasn't simply pork pies and roast venison. It brought a smile to his face - even in the middle of destruction, new ideas could be discovered.

He was happy too about his new helpers. He had ordered the Winter Town boys to rest, as many had not slept last night. Clydas and Denys had not wanted to, but Jon said that a tired physician would make mistakes and for matters of life or death, that was not acceptable. The whores had worked well as nurses, watching over patients, bringing fresh water from the Tumblestone, serving bone broth, and keeping dressings moist. Aysha had stayed outside the castle to oversee the harvest of herbs but her son had been quite energetic in delivering goods from merchants - honey, thread, even wood boards for the makeshift beds.

"Maester Snow, I am ever so grateful for Wendel's recovery." Wylis said. The cut had been easy to close, and with a poultice of honey and bearberry, Wendel recovered quickly. The second son was gulping down a tonic of balsamic vinegar and marvelling at the sweetness. Jon doubted it would go well with the rich food of White Harbor but he was not a cook.

"It is nothing, Ser. Again, any reward should go to my helpers. Ser Wendel must rest and drink fresh water often, and check the dressing to make certain it is clean." Jon said.

"House Manderly is in your debt. My father would be proud to host a feast in your honor." Wylis said. The rotund Manderly brothers clearly had partaken of many such feasts.

Jon waved it off. "Your men are loyal to House Stark. The return of my father and sisters is all I care about." The Heir to White Harbour walked off happily.

* * *

"Aren't you tired of all these people thanking you?" Jaime Lannister smirked.

"I have helped your men as well. I have treated a dozen Lannister knights, and many more from your bannermen." Jon said.

"They are not sure what to think, bastard." Jaime said. There was no tone of arrogance in his voice.

"They should think that we do not wish them to die." Jon said.

Satin walked over, carrying a large sealed pot. The boy whore attracted many uncomfortable stares with his pretty, effeminate features. Jon did not care. Satin was quick to learn and clever, and knew how to deal with complaints and when to call for help. The other whores looked to Satin for guidance, and the boy proved more than capable.

"Maester Snow. The liquid is ready." Satin said.

"And you have washed the pot in boiling water?" Jon asked.

"Aye, We washed our hands before. The knife to cut the leaves was clean. We have left some of the leaves so the plant would grow back." Satin said.

"Excellent." Jon opened the pot and sniffed. It smelled strong, like a stinky onion. He wondered if all aloe plants had the same odor. "Ser Jaime, ask them to come."

Jaime called out to a crowd of sullen warriors sitting in the corner. These were the men burned by the flaming siege tower. A huge man, powerful and muscled, stepped forward. "I will treat the burn now. This gel will heal your skin, and protect you from any infection." Jon said.

"You burned us first, and now you wish to heal? What game are you playing, Ser?" Lord Roland Crakehall said in a booming voice.

"I asked you to surrender. And then Ser Jaime asked you as well. You were too busy chanting None So Fierce. You could have bent the knee and avoided this." Jon said. He dipped a brush, first in boiling water, and then in the clear gel, before handing it to Satin. The boy swabbed the burns on Lord Crakehall's arms.

Crakehall's craggy face blinked in surprise at the soothing gel. "My thanks. But my sons will still seek vengeance! Like the wild boars they are."

"Do boars seek revenge against wolves?" Jon joked. "How many sons should I fear?"

"Three, and they all serve in Tywin Lannister's host." Roland boasted.

"All of them? Who stays at home at your castle?" Jon asked.

"Only my castellan. The Crakehall men are all in the Riverlands. You will see how fierce a boar can be." Lord Roland said.

"So your castle is entirely empty. A small force could capture it." Jon mused.

Roland turned white with anger. "You will never make it to Crakehall. They will stop you at the Golden Tooth." He said.

"Lord Roland, stop talking." Ser Jaime cried. "You have already told him too much."

The giant man looked confused. "What have I told him?"

"That all your men are east of here. That you have few troops at home. That we rely on the Golden Tooth to seal our borders. Do you plan to give him a map of the Westerlands and show him where to attack?" Jaime said.

"Don't worry, Ser Jaime. I would have found this out anyway, and Lord Crakehall is not the only one who talks. Besides everyone knows about the Tooth already." Jon said, unperturbed by Jaime Lannister's half hearted glare. He motioned to several lads returning to the yard, and the now refreshed Winter Town crew took the gel to treat other prisoners. Jon left a confused Lord Crakehall and annoyed Jaime Lannister behind. It had been a productive afternoon.

* * *

Olyvar Frey was waiting when Jon retired to his rooms to wash the blood off his clothes. He followed the squire to the Great Hall of the castle where Lord Tully would receive powerful guests. The solar remained unused, and the hallway was crowded with knights and lords. Robb's location was obvious given the Stark house guards standing outside, and the many pacing men near the door. A big bald old man with a weeping green willow on his sleeve was trying to calm down several younger noblemen, including a Goodbrook, Patrek Mallister, the red headed Piper heir, and a nondescript knight with the willow sigil of the Ryger family. The four were engaged in a heated discussion, and Jon noticed that there were few Northmen around. They were probably either drunk or preparing to be drunk at the feast tonight. Ghost and Grey Wind played in the woods outside but would return to the castle for dinner.

Hallis Mollen waved Jon through the door, a smile on his big brown bearded face. Hal was a loyal fighter but aligned closely to Catelyn Stark. He would never dare to smile like that in Winterfell or under Lady Stark's eyes. Robb sat in the high seat reserved for a great lord, looking as cold and serious as his Lord Father. Brynden Tully stood at the door, while Edmure and Lady Stark got up to leave. Robb did not frown but only a fool would not notice the tension in the room. Robb bade the Tullys farewell until dinner before asking Olyvar to dismiss everyone in the hallway. He would not give any more private audiences that evening.

Jon waited until the squire comes back. "Olyvar, could you stand outside to make certain no one is listening. Ask any Stark guards to step away, especially Hallis Mollen." Jon said.

Olyvar nodded and left to fulfil orders. "Hallis Mollen is a good man." Robb said.

"Yes, but with loose lips. I doubt you want him to repeat whatever is troubling you." Jon said.

The Heir to Winterfell nodded. "Jon, I have been speaking to the Riverlords. They tell horrible stories of the Lannister forces - burning villages with women and children trapped, chopping off the hands and feet of prisoners, looting and pillaging. Lady Shella Whent was driven out of her home in Harrenhal on the threat she would be given to the garrison and raped a hundred times over. The Mountain burned Stone Hedge, killed many smallfolk, raped one of Jonos Bracken's daughters, and left the castle a smoking ruin." Robb said.

"Who leads those troops and how many?" Jon asked.

"The Mountain of course. And even more disgusting creatures. Amory Lorch is rumored to hold Harrenhal. There are sellswords of the Brave Companions led by a Essosi named Vargo Hoat. His nickname is the Crippler. I do not believe the forces are that large, perhaps a thousand light cavalry for the Mountain, and the same number or slightly more for the sellswords, but they prey where our allies are weak. They forage what food they can carry and burn all the rest." Robb said. "The Riverlords are asking for our help. They want revenge on these scum and to protect their castles and smallfolk."

"Robb, these are terrible things, but you do not have the men to spread over the Riverlands. And Tywin Lannister's host is between you and Harrenhal. You are also not Lord Paramount of the Trident. Hoster Tully is responsible for keeping the peace, not the North." Jon said.

Robb slammed a fist down on the desk. "And that is the problem. Hoster Tully is not well."

"He is dying, isn't he?" Jon asked.

Robb looked up in surprise. "How do you know? The Tullys have not allowed any of the bannermen to see him."

"Maester Vyman brews dreamwine and milk of the poppy. Who else could that be for? His castle is besieged yet he doesn't lead the troops. And he did not receive you in the solar." Jon said.

"He is so small and shriveled. Mother used to tell us stories about the mighty warrior who struck the deals key to Robert's Rebellion. The Baratheons would have never won without the North, the Riverlands and the Vale. Now, he is lost in poppy dreams and weaker than Bran. I had hoped that Lord Tully would command Lady Lysa to send me troops." Robb said.

"Your aunt has already refused Lady Stark and the Blackfish." Jon pointed out.

"A father is not a sister or an uncle. If our Lord Father gave you an order, what would you do?" Robb said.

I went to the Citadel and trained to be a Maester, Jon thought. I left the home and siblings I loved. Had Lord Stark asked, Jon would have joined the criminals of the Night's Watch or even gone to Essos in exile. "Has Lord Tully sent any ravens to the Vale?" Jon asked.

"He has been sick for three years and bedridden for the last 6 months. Lord Tully's alliances have withered away. That may be the reason why the Lannisters were so confident they could pillage the riverlands." Robb said.

Catelyn Stark's kidnapping of Tyrion sparked the war, but Tywin's reaction might have been more measured with a stronger House Tully. "What have you promised the riverlords?" Jon asked.

"Only my sympathy but I wanted to ask your thoughts. Oh, and Edmure Tully wishes to hold a tournament. A tournament in the middle of a war, to give thanks to the freeing of Riverrun." Robb said.

"Do we even have enough food or gold to hold a tournament?" Jon asked quizzically.

"It gets worse. Edmure spoke of the tourney to his friends, Marq Piper, Lymond Goodbrook, and Patrek Mallister." Robb said.

"So he looks weak, if you tell him no. A Tully who was captured in front of his castle and who lacks power despite his father's absence." Jon said.

"Aye." Robb shook his head and looked into his cup of water. "I feel sorry for Edmure. He is a nice enough fellow but not meant for war. I don't know if I am either. I thought war was all battles and fighting like the songs - the Stag versus the Dragon on Ruby Ford. Instead, it is worrying about food, morale, and getting over a fucking bridge without being stabbed in the back. It is knowing you cannot protect people from beasts like Clegane."

They sat in comfortable silence, sipping cold water. If Robb Stark was not meant for war, then no one was. His brother was gifted at tactics and had killed ten thousand enemies, taken two thousand as prisoners, and broken the siege in less than a week with a few hundred casualties. For a moment, Jon wished the fighting ended, and that his family, unbroken and united, could return home. But Bran was already broken and Jon turned his mind to the present.

"Robb, you cannot promise the Riverlords revenge. The Northern army marched to bring Lord Stark back. We might trade Jaime Lannister for Father and other Lords for Sansa and Arya. Tywin Lannister would ask us to cease fighting, and it would be difficult to refuse." Jon said.

"Yes, I know. But Father would also want to protect the Rivermen. And as for Gregor Clegane and Vargo Hoat, they deserve the block." Robb said bitterly.

"Of course. Tywin Lannister may give unacceptable terms, so we may still defend the Rivermen. But we must enter the negotiation with an open mind. But that does not mean we cannot prepare for war. Even as we talk, we can strengthen our position." Jon said.

"If we had the Knights of the Vale." Robb said.

"But we do not, and we must play the cards we have. It is no good wishing for allies that are not here. You should allow Edmure Tully to have this tournament." Jon said.

"What? Did Robert Baratheon hold a joust before the Trident?" Robb asked.

"Of course not, but the tourney is not to celebrate Riverrun. It is to honor Hoster Tully and his life. It will unite the Rivermen, and explain why he has been missing when his bannermen were attacked. They will hear of the tourney far and wide. It may even shame the Vale to send men to our aid." Jon said.

"So Edmure will regain face with the Riverlords. Do you think Lady Arryn will change her mind?" Robb asked.

"I don't know, but if she does not send emissaries for her dying father, then she is truly lost. But at least then, the Lords of the Vale will know the shame of their actions. As High As Honor. How honorable is it to abandon your father on his death bed? Also if it is to honor an old and sick man, we can spend less for food and prizes." Jon said.

"Always counting coppers." Robb japed.

"We must. War is not just men in shiny armor on horses. It is food, supplies, protecting smallfolk, and gold. It is getting more troops, so you can outlast your opponents. It is breaking your enemy down by any means possible." Jon said.

"I heard what you did in the Whispering Wood, and the examples you made of the three men." Robb said. "Some have said it was cruel but I understand. You did what you had to do."

Jon let out his breath. "I am glad you agree. Robb, I have a request. You may not like this but I believe it will change the war. We have two thousand prisoners. Give me full authority over them, their treatment, their prisons, their release."

"And what will you get from them?" Robb asked.

"Gold and information." Jon refused to say any more.

"I suppose I don't want to know how you will do this." Robb said.

"I will not use torture. I was raised by Lord Stark, but the prisoners are a serious weakness for the Lannisters. We hold the Lords whose castles form the borders of the Westerlands. Banefort and Westerling guard the North and Crakehall and Prester hold the eastern and southern tips." Jon said. "If we control those four, the Rock is isolated."

"You are my brother in all but name. You have my blessing. I also have a request for you. You must be more than the Master of Whispers or a healer. I want you to lead men in battle." Robb took out a map of the Riverlands. "The best way to maneuver is to break off small armies, march quickly to confuse the enemy, and reassemble before battle. I do not know if the other Lords can be trusted. The powerful ones, like Lord Bolton and Karstark, have their own motives. The weaker ones may not be able to command. But I know if you lead men, you will make the right choices, even under great pressure." Robb said.

"That is not a request, Robb. You know I would gladly lead troops for you." Jon said.

"You need to train with weapons. Men want to know whether you can fight." Robb said bluntly.

"I haven't picked up a sword for four years." Jon said.

"Well, you have to learn how to spar again, Snow." Robb smiled.

"You just want to beat me in the yard." Jon said.

"I wish I could. Instead, I have to wine and dine these lords and listen to their endless complaints. Jonos Bracken and Tytos Blackwood are feuding over a sawmill. The Riverrun want more representatives than just Olyvar Frey, Patrek Mallister and Lucas Blackwood in my Honor Guard. Raymun Darry was killed by the Mountain and his nine year old son is now Lord. My Lady Mother says if I do not help, the Freys will try to control him through his cousins. It never ends - I had no idea that Lordship was so unpleasant." Robb sighed.

"It will be better in the North. There, all you have to do is to turn down marriage proposals. At the tourney, you can crown a new Queen of Love and Beauty and marry her." Jon joked.

"Very funny, Snow." Robb said. "I could engage you to one of two dozen Frey ladies."

"You wouldn't dare. I would run off faster than Arya from a lesson with the septa." Jon said. They both smiled, and for a moment, the war was far away.

* * *

"My Lords." Olyvar Frey entered the room after knocking loudly. Maester Vyman was by his side as well as the Blackfish. "An urgent raven from the Twins."

Robb broke the seal of the two blue towers. He read it quickly, a small smile breaking out on his face. "Harrion and Torrhen have won a great victory at the Broken Bridge. They have slain a thousand men and taken captive two hundred more. Their prisoners include Kevan Lannister, Lewys Lydden, and Steffon Swyft."

"Valuable hostages. Lydden is Lord of the Deep Den which controls the Goldroad. Swyft is heir to Cornfield and the family is close to the Lannisters. Kevan is Tywin's right hand." the BlackFish said.

"They will be riding down with the captives from the Twins. Jon, you have total authority over the prisoners." Robb said. "Ser Brynden, let the others know that my brother's orders are to be followed on these matters. I will announce this new victory at the feast tonight."

Jon nodded. More prisoners that might be traded for gold or information. Ser Jaime and Kevan Lannister alone should be enough to bring Eddard Stark and his sisters home. But Tywin Lannister was not considered one of the most dangerous men in Westeros for nothing. If the war continued, then he had two thousand plus prisoners. He would use them to break the West open for House Stark.

* * *

Author's Notes.

The triumph is best known for the Roman version. Generals would parade plunder and captives through a special route (Via Triumphalis) to the Temple of Jupiter to impress citizens, so they could be elected again into public office. In the early days of Valyria, archons were elected like consuls of the Roman Republic. Io is a long forgotten God of Gods, the progenitor deity of the dragons. He was forgotten as dragonriders began to believe that they were above the gods.

Silk was terribly expensive in the days of ancient Rome. I always found Satin's name interesting. Silk dresses are mentioned in the books but I imagine it to be like gold armor. Silk might be embroidered but even wealthy nobles could not afford an entirely silk dress.

This is actually how balsamic vinegar is made, and it does have medicinal qualities. [I found this when researching what herbs Romans used to treat wounds.] Given the lack of sugar, it was a huge hit in Italy and other parts of Europe. It was used as a disinfectant and considered a miracle cure in the Middle Ages, and given as a gift to the Holy Roman Emperor. That's right - balsamic vinegar was considered a prize worthy of kings. I find the notion of a Manderly brother drinking balsamic vinegar quite funny.


	10. 1001 Eyes

**1001 Eyes**

"I think the dungeon is in the other direction, Snow." Jaime Lannister quipped.

Jon steered the group of knights and lords through the courtyard past the curious gaze of prisoners, smallfolk, and Stark bannermen. These were the most valuable captives - Ser Jaime, his three cousins, Lord Brax and his eldest son, Lord Banefort, Lord Westerling, Lord Estren, Ser Greenfield, and Lord Crakehall. Ser Forley Prester had escaped to the East. They were guarded by dozens of Mormont men and women, and several other members of Robb's guard - Lucas Blackwood, Donnell Locke, and Eddard Karstark.

They approached a long slate roofed keep, squat and square, that stuck out like a sore thumb in the Riverrun grounds. The keep was thirty five feet high, with windows only near the very top . The outside bricks were battered and worn smooth, making it difficult to climb up or down. There was only one large red door, draped with dust and spider cobwebs, and that could be seen easily from both the North and West tower of the castle.

"What is this place?" Jaime asked, his eyes peering up at the high windows and uneven ceiling. The summit was jagged and the stones on top were loose.

"Hoster Tully used this keep to house his children when they were young. He often travelled away to other parts of the Riverlands. When he was gone, he wanted his daughters to stay here. After their marriages, the tower was abandoned." Jon said.

"A Maidenvault? Hoster Tully had a maidenvault built to protect the virtue of his daughters?" Jaime said incredulously and then laughed out loud. "Well, it didn't work."

"What do you mean?" Jon said.

"Petyr Baelish claims that he took the maidenheads of both Tully sisters. He was fostered at Riverrun." Jaime said.

"And does Petyr Baelish always tell you the truth?" Jon replied. He thought for a second and then smiled. "You are trying to provoke me, Ser Jaime. To get a reaction or have me defend my family. But Lady Stark is no relative of mine, and she will deny Baelish's lie."

"You can believe what you want, bastard." Jaime said.

"Does Baelish work for your family? Is he one of Tywin's spies like Maester Pycelle?" Jon said.

"I will not tell you anything." Jaime said, shutting his mouth like an insolent child.

"You already have, Ser Jaime." Jon said. He opened the tower door with a large iron key.

* * *

The tower smelled faintly of dampness and decay but Jon doubted that was permanent. The rooms had not been used since the end of Robert's Rebellion, and Lady Stark had always remarked that she was her father's favorite child. The entry hall opened onto a stone staircase, and there were rooms on either side on the ground floor for guards. Jon would post men both inside and outside the tower, and at the base of the stairs. It would be impossible for a thief to enter unseen or a captive to escape without fighting.

A strong smell of flowers hit Jon's nose. Herblore was not his favorite topic but he could detect chamomile, rosemary and an even stronger smell. Satin spilled scented water from a pitcher on the ground, while young girls strewed bunches of dried daisies, fennel, and violets. For one copper star per bunch, Aysha's helpers had eagerly collected dozens of plants and herbs this afternoon. Jon urged them to continue but not so aggressively that they stripped the fields bare.

"What is that smell?" Chett asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Lavender. The water is mixed with lavender petals. Gerry found lavender growing at the edge of the Tumblestone." Satin said.

"It smells like a brothel." Chett remarked.

"You mean it smells nice. Lavender oil is readily available, unlike expensive unguents and perfumes." Satin said. Even in arguments, Satin's voice was lyrical and sweet.

"Why are we here? Do you wish me to smell flowers? Am I to sleep in Lady Catelyn's childhood bed?" the Kingslayer japed.

Jon turned to the guarded faces of the prisoners. Only the Young Lion was unchanged by his imprisonment. Besides Crakehall, the other lords concealed their fear behind empty bluster and the younger cousins did not even hide their alarm. The ride from the Whispering Wood had taught them the extent of Northern savagery. "That's exactly what you are here for. The eleven of you will be kept in this tower. As the most valuable prisoner, Ser Jaime, you can choose your own bed. It wouldn't surprise me if it was Lady Stark's old boudoir." Jon added.

The Mormonts herded the perplexed Lords and knights up the stairs. The doors were heavy and thick, reinforced with iron studs but the rooms were comfortable if small. The desks, tables and chairs were of childish size, and blankets and curtains needed to be aired. They had climbed to the highest floor. There were four or five bedrooms but the largest held a sumptuous canopied bed. The headboard of white poplar wood, well seasoned, was surrounded by decorative frames of the great events of House Tully's history - the pledging of faith to Aegon the Conqueror, the defeat of Harren the Black, and the ascension of Edmyn Tully as Hand of the King after Orys Baratheon resigned. All three panels were related to House Targaryen and Hoster Tully had betrayed those ties with his daughters' marriages.

"Wonderful. I can sleep under a bunch of leaping trout." Jamie snarked. The carvings on the posts were silver trout in mid jump.

"Look." Satin said in an excited voice. "They even have a bath." In the corner of the adjacent room, there was a wooden tub with a tent like canopy over it with more carvings of fish. The tub was surrounded by large jugs and pots, and Jon felt sorry for the maids and servants that had to truck hot water up and down several flights of stairs. Perhaps they just dumped the dirty water out the window. The Tullys had clearly never heard of pipes and Jon dreamed one day of building a giant water bridge to tap far off mountain springs. Such an abundance of water could be used to irrigate fields, supply public baths and fountains, and scour a sewer system.

"Maester Snow, will we be truly allowed to stay here?" Willem Lannister asked.

"Yes, so long as you are at Riverrun." Jon said.

Ten prisoners were happy. Jaime Lannister was not. "What are you playing at, Snow? Riverrun has dungeons. Why put us here?" he said.

Jon turned, a cold smile on his face. "Would you rather stay in a cell underground and sleep on the floor, covered in your piss and shit? In the dark and the cold?"

"No, but I want to know why you did this." Jaime said, his eyes uncomfortable.

"Our stay will be quite tolerable." Lord Estren said. The portly noble with the big chin turned jovial at the new accomodations.

"We are high born knights, and no doubt, chivalry dictates that we are to be treated with kindness. Or they fear Lord Tywin's wrath if we are abused." Quenten Banefort said, eliciting chuckles from the Northerners.

"You two are idiots." Jaime snapped. "You saw their kindness when they roped us together and ripped off the arm of that Lorch man. Snow, why are you doing this?"

"You are here because it serves me. You will be given food and drink, and you will not be mistreated." Jon said. "And if you try to escape…"

Jory and Lyra Mormont stepped forward, carrying two black spiked maces. They aimed at a small table, and smashed the wood into several broken shards. They took particular care to break the table legs into pulp. "Do you need us to demonstrate more?" Lyra said.

Jon shook his head. 'If you attempt to escape, the guards have orders to break both of your legs. And then I will think of worse things, You are prisoners of House Stark. And prisoners you will stay." Jon motioned to his Wintertown boys. Before they departed, he wanted a thorough search of each prisoner, to insure no contraband, messages or weapons. There would be guards posted on every floor but he would take no chances.

"Snow, do you plan to trade us?" Jaime said.

"If your father is willing to free my father, then a deal can be made. If he is not, or my sisters are harmed, then you will stay a very long time. In comfort but not in honor. Good day. I will have food sent up from the feast." Jon said and left. He posted a pair of guards on each floor and a much larger contingent near the tower entrance.

* * *

Jon tried hard not to gag at the fifth dish of trout. So far, the Tullys had served smoked trout pate with dark bread, grilled trout with vegetables, roast trout with lemon and butter, another dish of smoked trout sweetened with honey, and trout pan fried on a bed of potatoes. He never wanted to see another trout in his life, although he supposed he would be forced to make an exception for the Blackfish and Lady Catelyn.

Jon sniffed at the sixth course - a fish pie. The flaky crust was bronzed to a golden finish. He cautiously speared it with a knife. The insides were a mixture of cod, salmon and haddock poached in a white sauce with buttery mashed potatoes. Jon ate the insides first and then spooned the remaining sauce over the crust. It was delicious, but most importantly, not trout.

"You wouldn't happen to have any more balsamic vinegar?" Wendel Manderly asked hopefully. Jon shook his head. The younger Manderly brother had spread the tale of the miracle tonic far and wide and many Lords were interested. Jon sat with the Manderlys and Eddard Karstark. They sat next to the high table where Robb Stark and the Tullys presided over the feast. The Mormont girls had been charged by Lady Maege to take first watch over prisoners.

"I would love to make more, and do so in the North." Jon said.

"We could ship it from White Harbour and sell it everywhere." an excited Wylis declared.

Only if the Manderlys do not eat and drink it all in their banquets, Jon thought. "I would need wine grapes though. And grapes do not grow well North of the Neck. The climate of the Arbor and Dorne works better."

"Surely you are clever enough to work around that." Wendel pleaded.

"Well - I could use hot springs and a glass garden. And a water drip before the fruit ripens. It would definitely be an interesting project." Jon said to the great delight of the Manderlys.

Robb Stark stood at the high table, and banged his goblet on the table. "My Lords and knights, I have an announcement to make. Eddard Karstark, rise and come to the high table." The surprised young man bounded up with a few long strides. "We received a raven this night from the Twins. I ask you to read it."

As Eddard scanned the letter, his jaws clenched. "It is a letter from Harrion and Torrhen. The trap worked!" His eyes looked to Jon. Robb smiled in encouragement for Eddard to continue.

_"Dear Lord Robb,_

_Torrhen lured the fools over the bridge. I destroyed the bridge with the help of the Manderly captain and the Wintertown boy. One thousand Lannister men are dead and we have captured two hundred, including the Kevan "The Lesser" Lannister, Lewys Lydden and Steffon Swyft. We have suffered few losses and ride South with the prisoners to meet you._

_Harrion Karstark, Heir to Karhold."_

Eddard finished reading. He could hardly keep his excitement in check. Such a stunning victory would be remembered for a long time. Cheers erupted from the Karstark contingent, and even the Umbers joined the applause. The Mormonts, Glovers, Manderlys and Flints also celebrated. In the Great Hall, Northmen reminisced about how they built the structure in a mere seven days.

"We now have Tywin's brother and his son." Robb said.

"You destroyed the bridge! That was our bridge." Ryman Frey said.

"The Northern Army constructed the bridge. And we used it as a weapon against the Lannister forces." Robb said coldly.

"But you agreed to give us the bridge. You stole it from us." Ryman was the loudest but other Freys muttered in the shadows.

"You would have destroyed it anyway. Maester Snow knew that, and found a better trick. My brothers kept the Old Lion at the Green Fork so Lord Stark could save Riverrun. Their victory added to our victory." Eddard shouted back.

"You are still a thief. The bridge was promised to us." Ryman said. "We demand compensation." He turned suspicious beady eyes toward Jon.

"Ryman Frey. We are fighting the Lannisters, and all you care about it is a stinking bridge. What next? Do you plan to charge us for the raven from your castle?" The Blackfish said.

"My Lords. We should give thanks for the great victory that Harrion and Torrhen claimed. Manderlys, crannogmen, Tallharts, Freys all helped. And of course, my brother Jon Snow." Robb said. Another wave of hooting and feet stamping broke out, drowning out the Freys.

Jon looked at the Frey table. Many looked sullen but the angriest were Ryman and his three sons. Edwin, the oldest son and fourth in the line of succession, sneered, making his pinched nose and pale face look even more constipated. Petyr Pimple frowned, muttering to a big fleshy man next to him. Jon did not know the name - there were many big fleshy Freys. Black Walder, wiry and thin, scowled and his hand clenched at the dagger at his hip. That one had a reputation as a fighter but he was most like his grandfather - irascible, resolute, and easy to anger. Black Walder would not forget a grudge. Nearly twenty percent of Robb's forces were Freys, and Jon wondered if any of them could be trusted.

Robb pounded the table again for silence again. "We have another matter to discuss and a serious one. I ask for silence."

Edmure Tully stood up. He was garbed in Tully colors, a fine brown tunic embroidered with silver fish and wearing a quilted doublet of red wool with a leaping trout. He looked better than the mess at the maester's room that afternoon. "My Lords, thank you for coming to Riverrun. My father, Hoster Tully, is dying. He has been sick for many years which is why he could not fight at the siege. House Tully will hold a three day tourney to celebrate his life. Robb Stark has told me that the rest of the force will arrive in a week, and House Stark and House Tully invite all who wish to come and pay their respects. We will send ravens out with these announcements." Edmure said.

Tytos Blackwood, Karyl Vance, Clement Piper, Jonos Bracken, and Jason Mallister all stood. "To Hoster Tully, a great man." The Northmen politely clapped. They knew little about Lord Tully but they had to applaud for Eddard Stark's goodfather and Robb Stark's grandfather. The Freys sat, stone-faced, ignoring the antics of the other Rivermen.

There were many other houses in the Riverlands. Jon wondered how many of them would come to the tourney and repledge their fealty. In Robert's Rebellion, quite a few had not answered their banners. In fact, many - the most prominent being House Darry, House Mooton - had stayed loyal to the Targaryens, and lost a great deal of their wealth and power. Jon thought more about the dying Hoster Tully. He had birthed two girls and married them to powerful men. He was considered great only because he chose the right side in the war. Had Rhaegar triumphed at Ruby Ford, no one would care for Lord Tully's passing. He would have been attainted or forced to take the Black.

* * *

Jon left the feast early, tired of the dirty looks by the Freys, the absurd abundance of trout, and men getting rip roaring drunk. Like Robb, he enjoyed a drink or two, but the alcohol induced bragging went too far. Several Freys declared that they would win the tournament and crown their sisters the Queen of Love and Beauty. Theon claimed that with a fleet of longships, he could sack Casterly Rock. And the rivermen ranted about preferring to die than bend the knee to anyone with a drop of Lannister blood. Jon wondered if they truly understood what they were saying. The Riverlands were easily invaded, and even if they declared the Starks their overlords, Winterfell was six hundred miles from Harroway, the center of the Riverlands. Only a strong king could ensure the safety of the Rivermen, not the Lord Paramount of the North.

Jon walked back to his quarters, near the ravenry at the Northern wall of the castle. Ser Brynden had found housing for the Wintertown boys, and there was room enough for Satin, Gerry and the other helpers to stay. The smallfolk of the castle had embraced the motley crew, no doubt to cadge tidbits of information about the exploits of the Northern Army. Jon saw Clydas whispering to a strapping serving wench, who carried trenchers of bread, cheese and a pitcher of ale to the Wintertown boys. The girl gasped at the sight of Ghost, and after a sharp and painful elbow to Clydas' ribs, stepped forward to curtsy. "Milord." she said.

"I am no Lord. Thank you for bringing bread and drink to my boys." Jon said. "I am sure Clydas will be happy to tell you more about our battles. He made valuable contributions to defeating the Lannisters." Jon left the proud boy to recount the tale.

He walked into the common area. Dinner was finished and every single plate had been demolished with the fish bones picked clean. Jon wondered if the whores loved trout or the battling armies had deprived the smallfolk of food for the past month. The Wintertown boys dragged many straw beds to one side of the room. A few red curtains, scavenged from destroyed tents, hung on the opposite side for the privacy of the whores. Both groups nibbled at freshly baked bread and drank ale. Chett labeled pieces of parchment with Westerland house sigils. Satin and Gerry looked on the paper with keen interest but the girls anxiously stood in a line, as if they would be inspected like horses.

"Chett, when did you sleep last?" Jon asked.

"Forty hours ago, Ser - same as you." the boy said.

"Maester, is it true what they say?" Denys asked.

"That depends. What do they say?" Jon asked.

"That a great victory was won at the Green Fork with the bridge, and that many mighty knights and lords were captured." Denys said.

"Well, they took two hundred prisoners. As for mightiness, one of them was Ser Kevan Lannister, younger brother to Tywin. He is second only to Ser Jaime, in his value." Jon said.

"Did you really build a bridge across the Trident in seven days? The entire castle has been wondering whether it was a tall tale, like grumkins and snarks." Gerry said.

"I did not build a bridge. We built a bridge - the Northern army. Nearly fifteen thousand men cutting timber, manning boats, pounding the piles deep into the river. The Umbers and the Karstarks put aside their differences and did much of the heavy lifting. Far more can be done working together than alone. We win battles, as an army, not as individual soldiers." Jon said.

"But, Ser." Chett objected. "The Army could never build a bridge without your guidance. None of the Lords have any clue how to create such a structure."

"A man who has to boast does not have much to brag about. Arthur Dayne did not speak of his sword skills and no one doubted him. Everyone knows who oversaw the bridge." Jon said.

"Milord.." A pretty young girl stuttered. "Do you wish female company tonight? I and any of my sisters would be happy to offer. It would be free of course, Ser."

"What is your name?" Jon said.

"Bethany, milord. And this is Cass and Lanny." The other girls looked nervously down at the floor. Only Bethany was brave enough to make eye contact for a few seconds.

"You do not need to sell yourself. None of you. I will make certain that you have food to eat and a place to stay. And if you would leave, I will try to find you a place in the North. For now, I will pay you ten stags a day, so long as I am able. " Jon said.

"But how long will that be? Your purse had twenty gold dragons, but you have paid five as advances on our wages. You have purchased another 5 dragons of herbs, honey and dressings. Will you be able to replenish your purse or must we leave in a month?" Gerry asked.

"I cannot guarantee how long the army stays at Riverrun, but in terms of gold, I have ideas. And you all can play a role, if you wish. Satin, I would like you to be my steward. You will see that the boys and the girls are properly looked after. Gerry, I would like you to teach the others. My crew were trained to operate the trebuchets and catapults, but they have never been instructed in reading and writing. I would compensate both of you well for this. And Aysha.." Jon looked around, puzzled. "Where is Aysha?"

Her young son clenched his fists before glaring at Jon. "My mother is not comfortable in the castle. She does not trust high borns." Gerry's comment garnered a look of sympathy from many in the room. The Starks of Winterfell were admired for their honor but smallfolk in the North had heard many dark stories about other Lords.

"I promised food and drink. I mean to keep my word to her." Jon said. "I need someone who can ensure a sufficient supply of herbs and medicine. She would do better than most maesters."

"Maester, we purchased some bread and cheese this afternoon with a few silver stags." Satin said. "I will bring breakfast to her in the morning." Jon nodded. The boy whore accepted the position of steward and the Wintertown lads began to drift off to sleep. Jon gave orders to servants that the girls would have whatever sheets and bedding needed to be comfortable.

* * *

Before he retired for the night, the young blond boy caught up to him in the hall. "I am sorry, ser, for my presumption. I merely wish to protect my mother."

"No apology is needed. I understand entirely. It is the right thing to do and you are a good lad." Jon said. "May I ask, what happened?"

"I don't know exactly. She fled to the Riverlands before my birth. I think the Westermen killed my father." Gerry said. "When I ask her, she only says that the lions took him away."

"The book is his then. **De Materia Medica**." Jon said.

"Yes. My mother told him that she wanted to be a healer. He gave her many books. She was forced to sell several to live, but she kept that one." Gerry said.

"How do you spell your name?" Jon asked.

"G-E-R-I-O-N." the boy said.

Jon thought for a moment. "I would not use that name in front of others."

"Why not, Ser?" the boy asked.

"Gerry is the name of a smallfolk. But Gerion is a noble name. Be careful that those who harmed your mother do not find her again." Jon said.

"Thank you, Ser." Gerry said relieved before hesitating. "You are not angry at me? Will you still employ my mother to collect herbs?"

"Of course. She has been a great help and she led me to Satin and your friends. And I am glad to find a teacher for my crew." Jon smiled at the eager blond boy. "Few boys of your age read so well. You have a bright mind, and a desire to keep it sharp. Those are rare qualities."

"Truly? I have dreamed of studying at the Citadel and become a maester." Gerry said.

"You should set your goals higher. Most maesters are not very smart." Jon said, thinking of Lazy Leo. "Good night, Gerry. And in the morning, relay my request to your mother."

* * *

Jon dreamed that night of a great battle in an open field of flowers. A tall, powerful man rode at the head of an army, wearing black and red plate and a distinctive war helm, with batlike steel dragon wings. His tabard was a three headed black dragon on a field of red and the man drew a great Valyrian steel bastard sword as he charged a force of Valemen and Targaryen loyalists. The grass and flowers turned red with blood as men died by the thousands. The Black Dragon fought like the Warrior made flesh, and in the songs of the bards, that should have carried the day. At Redgrass field though, the Raven's Teeth gained the high ground, and with the rebel standard fluttering three hundred yards away, the longbowmen rained down volley after volley of arrows, killing the first Blackfyre and two boys that lifted the standard. The sons of Daemon Blackfyre could not have been older than ten and two and died bravely.

"They may have been boys but they were traitors." The voice came from a thin gaunt man with milk white skin, long straight white hair, and a red eye. The other eye had been gouged out in that same battle. He carried a tall white weirwood bow, and there was a blotch on his right cheek, like a raven drawn in blood. He wore scarlet, black and smoke, and his red doublet bore his personal sigil - a white winged dragon breathing scarlet flame.

"Brynden Rivers. I seem to meet quite a few Bryndens these days." Jon said.

"They were not named for me - although my mother was a Blackwood. She named me Brynden at her breast but men have called me Bloodraven for a very long time." he said.

"Why do you appear in my dream? And why do I dream of the Rebellion?" Jon said.

He chuckled, his one red eye sinister and pale. "Why do you think?"

"If I knew, I would not have to ask." Jon replied.

"Perhaps you are not as cunning as I thought." Bloodraven said. "You have dragon dreams. They sing to you - of the past, of your future. You dream of ancient Valyria and all of its glory. You wish to rebuild the Freehold, and restore what was lost in the Doom. By fire and blood. In dreams, you fly. You are no fool. Only dragons fly dragons."

"I have wolf dreams too." Jon said.

Bloodraven snorted, and the lines on his hard chalk white face sharpened like flesh pulled too tightly over a skull. "Dreams where you eat elk and boars. Or kill a few witless men. Those are merely the fancies of a warg. And you have had those only since your dire wolf pup. How long have you dreamed of dragons?"

Since I saw the obsidian candles in the Citadel. One day, I will light the black candles with my mind alone, Jon thought. The Maesters feared their own limitations, and claimed that magic had left the world. They were wrong. What had been done once, could be done again. "Four years." Jon said.

"The day is coming when you can not deny who you are. When you cannot run from your name. The world will see you for what you are."

"My name is Jon Snow. Bastard born of Ned Stark." Jon said.

"A false name to escape a false king. Why would Jon Snow dream of dragons?"

"Did you have Dragon dreams, Ser?" Jon asked.

"The Targaryens have long had prophetic visions, even before the Conquest. When I was ten and six, I went to the Isle of Faces and had a waking dream. I saw a field reddened with blood, and two standards, a red dragon on a black field and a black dragon on a red field at war. I saw a shower of arrows from a high ridge, raining down from weirwood bows." Bloodraven said.

"Weirwood bows. The Battle of Redgrass Field did not happen until many years later." Jon said.

"Because of the dream, I formed the Raven's Teeth - three hundred long bowmen. History gives credit to Baelor and Maekar but my bowmen won the battle."

"I have not the time to form such a company. It would take many years to train men strong enough to pull such a bow, and there are no more weirwood groves in the South." Jon said.

"There are weirwood trees still on the Isle of Faces."

You would cut down trees from a sacred grove?" Jon asked aghast.

"I carved a bow from a great weirwood tree on the Isle. The vision was a blessing and a curse. I served as Hand for twenty four years and I defeated three Blackfyre Rebellions." Bloodraven said.

"But you are an oathbreaker and a kinslayer. You killed one half brother, and four of his sons. Men curse your name still, and claim you studied the Dark Arts." Jon said.

"What is honor to the lives of a hundred thousand? I sacrificed my honor to give the reign of Aegon the Unlikely a chance. How safe would his rule be with a Blackfyre plotting civil war? And what would you do to protect your family? If you were a maester, would you have broken your oath to rescue your sisters?"

"I do not know, but I would not kill my half brothers." Jon said stubbornly.

"We are more alike than you would care to admit - we are both bastards and rogues. And you have other half brothers besides Robb." Bloodraven said.

"I do not plan to kill them either." Jon said.

Brynden Rivers chuckled. "We will see. Good luck in the wars to come. Remember your dreams."

Jon woke with a start. Brynden Rivers was a fearsome man who had made hard decisions in a time of turmoil. He never wore the Crown but ruled Westeros for twenty four years, and been trusted by his half brother Daeron the Good for a decade before that. No one would ever describe the Bloodraven as good but he had served the Kingdom well. Was there a better Hand for crisis than Bloodraven? Jon could not think of any. How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? The riddle ran. He had enough to defeat his enemies.

* * *

Jon waited until mid morning for the prisoners in the Children's Keep to break their fast. The servants delivered soft boiled eggs, small slices of rustic bread, butter and sharp white cheese to the tower. There was no ale, only cold river water. Casks and wagons of ale, mead and wine remained unopened at Riverrun but they would be saved for the tourney and the Northern host.

Guards rousted the eleven prisoners down the stairs but Jon made it clear there would be no rough treatment. Jaime Lannister was in the lead, a trademark smirk on his handsome face. "What part of the castle are we touring today, Snow?" Jaime said.

"A much less pleasant area." Jon replied.

The smell hit them before they opened any doors - the fetid stink of thousands of men jammed into a small space. The heavy oak dungeon door opened and the odor became more noxious. The Western Lords gagged, trying to hold onto their morning meal. There were forty cells, hewed out of rough stone, damp with water. Guards readied their weapons as Jon commanded the cell doors be opened.

The dark dungeons at Riverrun could hold four hundred people. Today, there was five times that number. There was barely any space to sleep, and men had shat and pissed in their clothes. The food was scraps of bread and the drink was moldy water. It would take a strong stomach to eat and drink in such a wretched place. Only the most truculent prisoners were in irons. The sharp spears and studded maces of the guards were enough to dissuade any thought of revolt. The dungeon seemed warm, like the Hell of the septons, but that was the combined heat and musk of the men.

"What is the meaning of this, Ser? Some of these men are knights and of noble blood." Lord Banefort said.

"They are prisoners that we could have easily killed on the battlefield. They have been given enough not to die. But not enough to live." Jon said.

"They will die from overcrowding and disease. You have only a few latrines for a few thousand men. They will get sick from the food and water, and this place makes the Black Cells look like the king's chambers." Ser Jaime said.

"Yes, while you stay in the Maidenvault and sleep on feather beds, your men stay here." Jon held up his hand for attention, and the prisoners turned their gaze entirely to him. "I am here to offer terms. Any of you can leave, if you pay a ransom in gold. You will swear on the Seven and the old Gods and the new that you will not return to the riverlands nor attack the North. And if you do so, we will send you back to the Westerlands." Jon said.

"How much gold?" a voice yelled from the back.

"That depends, Ser. A squire will pay less than a spearman. A spearman will pay less than a crossbowman. A knight will pay the most. The price will not be cheap but you will be free, so long as you swear not to attack the Northern army or the riverlands." Jon said.

"What about us? How much do we need to pay?" Lord Estren asked.

"You are a Lord. Unless you surrender your castle, you will remain my guest until the War ends. But you will stay in comfort, sleeping on beds in the tower." Jon said.

"Men cannot be ransomed before Lords." Quenten Banefort said.

"My knights are too loyal to yield." Roland Crakehall cried.

""Tywin Lannister will kill anyone who deserts." Tytos Brax said.

"If it was one or two men, or even a hundred. But two thousand? Will he chop off two thousand heads? There is strength in numbers. And Tywin Lannister is to our east. He has to fight the North, and then the Baratheons. How large will his army be when that is done?" Jon said.

The dungeon came alive with murmurs. Men looked at each other and their lords. Their lords were well rested and well fed. The men were neither. A greasy smear of butter could be seen on Lord Crakehall's tunic. "We don't have gold here, Ser. We have lost our horses and armor. How would we pay?" The voice was from a different cell.

"You will sign a note, a pledge of your payment. Or you may send letters to your kin and ask them to raise the ransom. You can pay less now or more later. What would happen to your family if you died? Your wife or your children? How will they fare?" Jon asked.

"Don't listen to the bastard. Tywin Lannister will save you." Lord Westerling said.

"Tywin Lannister may save Ser Jaime or Ser Kevan, who will be my guest soon. Will he pay for you? Will the Old Lion even know if you lived or died in battle? I do not want to treat you poorly. I have given you bread and water and cells to sleep in. But how much food do we have? Ser Jaime and the other great Lords are too valuable to starve but as the war goes on, when the Northern Army runs out of bread, what will you eat? When your cell mates die of disease, will you die or just suffer for a long time?" Jon said.

"The Old Lion will free us. He will lay siege to Riverrun." Lord Brax insisted.

Jon chuckled. "You are a fool. A prancing unicorn suits you well. What happens when there is no food. How well do prisoners eat in a siege? If we ran out of stones, you will use your bodies for the catapults, whether you are alive or dead. My brother and I would be quite happy if Tywin Lannister attempted a siege. We are not the Tullys. We destroyed your forces with five thousand men. Soon we will have ten thousand more. By all means, Lord Brax. Ask House Lannister to come attack the castle." Jon said.

"What if we cannot pay? What if our families have no gold?" a nameless prisoner cried.

"Even without gold, you may have secrets to trade. There are many things I wish to know. How many forces does Tywin's host have? Which lords march and which of their sons stay home? The defenses of the Westerlands. I am sure there are other things you can tell." Jon said.

"You will not succeed. Our men will not become informers." Lord Brax said.

Jon ignored the prancing unicorn and spoke directly to the prisoners in the dungeon. "Then you can pay with gold. Remember this, a secret can lose value quickly. Best tell me soon or you will have nothing to trade. You can be brave and noble and die in a cell, forgotten and your bones will lie here forever. Or you can pay and swear on your Gods that you will not fight the North. And keep that oath. If I find you again, if you raise your hand to House Stark, you will lose both hands."

The guards herded the prisoners back to their cells. Darkness and hunger would convince them more than Jon ever could. The idea of freedom had been introduced. Now he would merely wait for prisoners to crack. There were mutterings about honor and treachery as they walked back to the keep. He ignored these remarks. The lords were not the ones who would negotiate their ransom. If Bloodraven could withstand the scorn of the entire Seven Kingdoms, then he could tolerate the anger of eleven Lannister bannermen.

* * *

He delivered the prisoners back to Hoster Tully's Daughter Vault. As they trudged up the stairs, Jon checked the security on every floor. Only certain servants would be allowed in the keep, and any strangers would be turned away, no matter what they claimed. They could claim to be the high septon but that would not matter. The guards had strict orders, and Jon chose only those whose loyalty to House Stark was unquestioned - long time Winterfell men, his personal crew, Mormonts and crannogmen. "You are a bastard, born of lust and lies." Gawen Westerling said with a glare.

"Guilty of the first. As for the second, only my Lord father would know." Jon quipped.

"Our men have honor. They have given oaths to their lords. They will not fall for your deceit. They swore to give their lives for ours." Tytos Brax said.

Jon looked about the bedroom chambers with light, and air, and trout infested furniture. "Your lives are fine, my lords. Unless you try to escape, in which case, you may be relocated from this tower. Tell me, would any of you care to switch with your men? To live in filth and beg for scraps of bread. Would you trade your pillows and beds for a hard stone floor, and the light of the keep for the dungeon." Jon said.

"You know we won't do that, Snow." Ser Jaime said.

"Of course not. Your men may be brave. But easier for men to volunteer to die, than to suffer with patience. And what for? Why stay in a miserable prison when with a stroke of the pen, you can be free. All you need to do is to pay with promises and an oath." Jon said.

"At the cost of your honor." Ser Jaime said.

"And how is your honor, Ser Jaime? Have none of you done anything to besmirch your vows? Two thousand men will not value honor more than their lives. They want to survive, to live and fight another day." Jon said.

"They will betray you too. They will break their vows and return to battle. They will not pay your ransom." Westerling said.

"Perhaps, but not before they break their oaths to you." Jon said.

"You are scum. The High Septon says that all bastards are born to betrayal. You are an abomination in the eyes of the Seven." Tytos Brax said.

"Lucky I worship the Old Gods, then."

Jon smiled as he walked away. The Western Lords were focused on honor and oaths. They should have been more concerned about secrets. How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? Brynden Rivers and his paramour Shiera may have delved into sorcery but the Bloodraven also had informers everywhere, ready to sniff out plots and betray liege lords. Jon had two thousand Westermen stuffed into a miserable dank dungeon. How many eyes could be converted from them? How many Lannister secrets would be ferreted out - enough to take castles or only to make Tywin uncomfortable? Jon was certain the Old Lion was the key. Tywin Lannister would have skeletons in his closet. Find them, and House Stark would win.

* * *

Authors Note

It is interesting that Bloodraven was so effective with weirwood bows. He killed Daemon Blackfyre when no one else can although it is not clear if he personally shot any of the seven killing arrows. Daemon was wearing the best plate mail possible. Many readers will already know that the English longbow was a powerful weapon which required extensive training. Basically the shortbow was 3 foot in length and had a pull strength of 50 pounds. The English longbow was 5 feet plus long, and has been measured at a pull strength of 130 pounds. The greater the pull, the more the potential force unleashed. Of course the bow is de-emphasized in the Game of Thrones. Is that because knights and kings suppressed the longbows to save their own hides? [I think by the way that Bloodraven kills one of Daemon's generals, Quentyn Ball, before the Battle by ambushing him with an arrow.] Or were there no weirwood trees or fletchers capable or allowed to craft longbows? Another possibility is that it takes a great deal of training and discipline to put together a company of longbow men. With the emphasis on knights, no one besides the Bloodraven had the foresight to put together the Raven's Teeth.

The dungeon scene is inspired by the notorious civil war prison camp of Andersonville, Georgia. It was designed for 10,000 prisoners but at the peak, held 33,000. Needless to say, the conditions were poor. An estimated 13,000 men died of malnutrition and disease. Jon has the option of distributing prisoners to other castles in the Riverlands. House Blackwood currently holds 500, but the castle is bursting at the scenes. [In GOT, they mention lords being held at Stone Hedge and Raventree Hall. That makes little sense, unless you can't fit them all in Riverrun] In ancient battles, most prisoners were sold into slavery or killed. I would imagine in medieval battles, they were ransomed or died of wounds/disease. Jon wants the first option, for multiple reasons.

The ransom market was well developed in the Late Middle Ages. Believe it or not, soldiers would be sent back to their home country on their honor to raise their ransom. One of the drivers was the democratization of war particularly with the English longbowmen and crossbowmen. Before that, only kings and nobles got ransomed. But given how extremely effective those mercenaries could be, they were also ransomed for decent amounts. (I read an article where two years of wages were paid as ransom for an English bowman.) The prospect of ransom made men more inclined to go to war. If they were captured, they might not be killed but only have to sit it out for a year. And they could get very rich! This story is set pre Crusades when the ransom market was for great lords and not for the common man. This makes Jon's suggestion a surprise to others. In GOT, they talk about four Freys being ransomed (possibly to bribe Walder to betray Robb) and attempts to trade Willem Lannister for a Karstark or a Glover. Jon is saying he will accept a ransom for any soldier, particularly if they feed him info. So this isn't negotiated at the orders of their lords but one on one. The difference is quite dramatic and crucial to Jon as a spymaster.

In terms of reviews, I am happy to answer questions. But if you leave an anonymous review, I can't send a message back. Just a few quick points. My take on Westeros is that it is the Middle Ages before the Crusades. The Crusades accelerated economic and social development in Europe. So things like silk, agricultural innovation picked up as they got ideas from the East. Of course, Westeros has a fair bit of trade because of Braavos, Oldtown and the Free Cities. After all, there is an Iron Bank! But there are also Ironborn pirates (akin to the 9th and 10th century Vikings pre Crusades) and knowledge is hoarded in one institution (the Citadel like the Roman Catholic Church.) So this story is set in a more primitive version of the Middle Ages before Roman ideas start spreading back to the West. Finally there was some confusion on Robb's comment "you are my brother in all but name." I will edit this passage but there should be no doubt. Jon and Robb are quite devoted to each other.


	11. Water Water Everywhere

**Water Water Everywhere**

Hoster Blackwood handled ravens with a skill that Walgrave, the demented Archmaester of ravencraft at the Citadel, would admire. Hos had taken charge of two dozen birds borrowed from Raventree Hall and eight more at Riverrun. Day and night, the tall gangly boy coaxed the thirty plus ravens to fly to castles near and far. The birds returned swiftly, chattering happily when they saw the boy, roosting on Hoster like a weirwood tree in an ancient godswood. Every single raven had been needed to carry messages : a proclamation of the Great Northern victory, invitations to a three day tournament celebrating Hoster Tully's life, and lists of prisoners held in the dungeons to be ransomed. But the ravens could not solve the problem being discussed at the small meeting held in the Riverrun solar - how to send a message to Tywin Lannister.

"Lord Stark. Without the location of the Lannister camp, any raven from the castle would be flying blind over the Riverlands." Hoster Blackwood said.

There were legends of the First Men that ravens could speak words and fly to many different castles but that knowledge had been lost long ago with the children of the forest. "Have the scouts sighted the host?" Jon asked.

"The army came down the Green Fork to the Inn at the Crossroads but we do not know where they might set up. Harrenhal is the strongest defensive location but Tywin could also keep his forces at Harroway or set up a barricade on the river road at the ruby ford. There are at least several different groups, each with a leader - Ser Marbrand, Clegane, Lord Lefford, and Tywin Lannister. The scouts can not tell where the Old Lion will be." The Blackfish said.

"Wouldn't a raven to Harrenhal be the best solution?" Lady Stark asked.

"The mercenaries are posted there, and Amory Lorch. All scum. The message might get to Tywin Lannister. It might be stolen. These sellswords are not to be trusted. They could ignore the letter, claiming to have shot down the raven. They could sell the information to others at Kings Landing. And even if they would forward the message, it may take days for the letter to reach him." The Blackfish said.

"If there is any way to free my father from the Black Cells, it should be done quickly. We could send a force under a flag of parley east on the Riverroad." Robb said.

"You cannot go. Tywin Lannister might have you arrested." Catelyn Stark cried.

"I know that, Mother. I am not a fool. I mean to send someone I trust." Robb said.

"I could go for you, Robb. Lord Lannister will not arrest me." Catelyn said.

Lady Stark seemed to forget that she had arrested Tyrion Lannister and that her negotiations with Walder Frey had not impressed. Robb shook his head. "The person we send will only bear a message. We will conduct talks on the exchange of Jaime Lannister for my father here." Robb said.

"Tywin Lannister will not come to Riverrun." Catelyn said.

"And I will not go to him. I hold eleven valuable prisoners, his son and his only living brother. Tywin does not hold Father - the Iron Throne does. If he wants them free, he can send someone to speak for him." Robb said.

"Perhaps Lord Bolton or Lord Karstark should go. The Greatjon is also senior enough to represent the North." Catelyn said.

"I need a messenger, not a negotiator. And I do not need Roose Bolton or Rickard Karstark to speak for me. I am the Heir to Winterfell, and the army follows me. With Father imprisoned, I act as Lord Paramount of the North. Jon.." Robb said.

"You cannot send a bastard to Tywin Lannister." Catelyn said in alarm.

Robb rolled his eyes. "I would not send Jon. He is too valuable to me at Riverrun. And so is Ser Brynden. Jon, who do you think we should send?"

"I could go, Lord Stark." Edmure Tully said. "I would gladly tell Lord Lannister that you have his son as captive."

Robb turned to Edmure. "I thank you for the offer but your father is ill. If he passes, then you would be the Lord of Riverrun, and Lord Paramount of the Trident. The Westermen may be tempted to disregard a parley and capture you." Robb said.

"Lord Edmure, you are also the host of this tournament. Tully bannermen come to honor your father. And as Lord Paramount, you must hear their complaints and pledge to protect them." Jon said to Edmure's grateful nod. "I would ask Jason Mallister to go. He is famed for both bravery and honor. He fought with Lannister men in the Greyjoy Rebellion, killing Balon Greyjoy's oldest son. And if he was captured, his heir is fighting in our army, so Seagard's loyalty is clear."

"It is a good suggestion, Lord Stark. The Silver Eagles are well respected." The Blackfish said.

"Lord Mallister could also bring other rivermen with him. They could be your eyes and ears into what is happening at Harroway, Darry, Saltpans and the Riverroad. And they would be happy to tweak the Lion's nose." Jon said.

"Aye. Many of my companions would take joy in bringing unwelcome news to the Lannisters. Marq Piper, Lymond Goodbrook, Hugo Vance. They would all be happy to accompany Lord Jason." Edmure Tully said.

Olyvar Frey walked through the red oak door and whispered a quick message in Jon's ear. Jon stood up. "Maester Vyman has time now to answer my questions. If I could take my leave, Lord Stark."

Robb noted. "Thank you, Jon. I will ask Lord Mallister today."

* * *

After the door closed, Catelyn Stark hissed at her son. "Robb, are you certain you should let him handle the prisoners? I have heard stories of the suffering in the dungeons. And demands for ransom! His actions will give you a bad name."

"Of course there is suffering. Riverrun does not have space for two thousand prisoners. It is not a large castle. Jon is getting as much gold and information out of them possible." Robb said.

"But gold - the North has no need for gold dragons. Only bastards are greedy and covetous for money." Catelyn said.

"The gold ransoms are not to buy carpets, lace or fancy clothes. The money will be used for food, iron and supplies for the Army. We are not the Lannisters, pillaging and stealing from smallfolk. Villagers will be paid a fair price for any grain and meat we need. I do not want an army of thieves and robbers." Robb said.

"Snow won't be successful anyway. The bastard is allowing prisoners to escape if they sign a paper promising to pay. How will he ever collect? They will just run away, and maybe fight us again." Theon said.

"Men value their honor. If they swear on the Seven not to fight, many will believe they are cursed if they break their oath. And in the Free Cities, men sign parchment and pay their dues. The Iron Bank does not have trouble collecting its debts and the prisoners fear Jon Snow." the Blackfish said.

"There are many dark stories spreading. How the bastard tore off a man's arms and legs with a horse and laughed when knights were burned alive on the battlefield. The servants say he consults witches for prophecies and magical potions, and that he uses the blood of patients to extract confessions." Lady Stark said.

"Confessions of what? That they are prisoners? I trust my brother. Jon will be fair. If he is harsh, then it is for a reason. When the captives return West, the lords and smallfolk will know that Northmen are to be feared. And we will get gold to pay for food. As prisoners leave, the dungeons will be less crowded. Jon has my full confidence." Robb said.

* * *

Jon stood at the Water Gate with Maester Vyman and Utherydes Wayn, the head steward of Riverrun. Both servants of House Tully were old men, gaunt and sour and begrudging of unusual demands on their time. Satin, Gerry and Chett trailed at a respectable distance as Jon looked over the rushing blue white current on the Northern side. He noted with interest that the Tumblestone flowed more quickly than the muddy red brown flow of the broad Red Fork. The red mud was very close to the Tully house colors. As the Trident wended South, the land dipped, so there was a gentle slope down.

"And this is the Water Wheel." Vyman said. The great wooden wheel had many vines of ivy climbing alongside it, and was situated near the wide arch and portcullis of the Water Gate. Nearly a third of the vertical wheel was submerged under the flowing water of the Tumblestone, with a large horizontal axle connecting through a chink in the castle walls. The blades of the wheel were flat and gnarled, adding to a definite drag.

"What do you use it for?" Jon asked, although Chett had already sussed the operation out from the castle servants.

Steward Wayn walked them to a small hut abutting the building. There was another pit wheel, although smaller in size connected to the axle. Other crude wheels were connected to it finally leading to a smaller wheel known as a stone nut. There were two millstones, a stationary bedstone that acted as the base, and a slightly concave runner stone above that would grind the grain and push it to the edges of the wheel. It was a gristmill to process wheat, barley and oats into flour. "We use it to grind grain." Utherydes said.

"But what else? In the last three days, we have not seen the mill put to use." Jon said.

"The mill is needed only during harvest. I suppose we could use it to crush grapes but it would be hard to clean. What else could you use a water mill for?" Vyman said.

So many things, Jon thought. Vyman might know how to assist Hoster Tully but he had little knowledge of the power of machines. He inspected the cogs carefully, trying to see if there was any place to place additional levers and gears of his own."A mill can be used for many things. Seeds could be crushed to provide cooking oil. You can also make a saw mill where timber would be cut into lumber boards, or ore could be crushed. I think a mill could help in spinning yarn or carding wool." Jon said.

"Using water power to cut wood or spin yarn? That sounds impossible, just like dragons." The steward jested.

Except dragons flew over the Riverlands one hundred and fifty years ago, Jon thought. He stepped back from the wheels. The whole structure was crude. The Tullys used the entire power of the Tumblestone to grind a bit of grain. The stream wheel submerged in a river was almost as bad as a horizontal wheel, and took a great deal of force to generate a bit of power. The cogs and gears on the other side were also poorly designed. "Do you have any more spare parts or spare wheels?" Jon asked.

"We do have another wheel but it is smaller and narrower. It would not be large enough to place in the Tumblestone and do work." Vyman said.

Larger machines powered operations better than smaller ones, but only if they were well designed. The Water Wheel on the Tumblestone was not. "How deep is the Western moat that connects the Tumblestone and the Red Fork?" Jon asked.

"About ten feet, and it slopes down. The Tumblestone is deeper than the Trident" Vyman said.

That was perfect. With a river like the White Knife, Jon would need to build a dam and a reservoir to channel the water to and from the wheel. But here, the water could just flow from the Tumblestone to the Red Fork along an already cut channel. All he needed now was a hole for the horizontal axle, and a world of opportunities opened up. So many ways to prove the maesters wrong. "You have been very helpful. Would it be possible for me to use the smaller wheel, and any axles or gears lying around?" Jon asked.

"Of course. Lord Hoster has asked that House Stark receive assistance in any way possible." Steward Wayn said in an unctuous tone.

Jon looked at the powerful currents flowing on the North side. He suspected that before slavery, the ancient Valyrians were forced to harness water power to build towers and roads. After capturing hundreds of thousands of slaves from the Empire of Ghis, science and discovery had stagnated, and the use of machines declined. Valyria was greater when it was poor and smart, Jon thought. He would bring that back, one water mill at a time.

* * *

"I don't see why you want my company so much, Snow." Jaime Lannister japed. "I am not sure how they behave at the Citadel but the Kingsguard take no wives or husbands."

"Well, since I don't have blonde hair, green eyes, or big tits, I am not your type, Ser Jaime. I need something from you." Jon said.

The Lion of Lannister walked with his hands and feet free, but he was watched by Eddard Karstark and several Mormont guards. "And why would I help you? Why in the Seven Hells would I do anything that could benefit House Stark?"

Jon walked out of the West Gate and the guards forced Jaime to follow. It was a strange castle that Axel Tully had constructed. Riverrun had three sides, but the North Gate was only accessible by boat. When the Red Fork flooded, the drawbridge on the South Gate would be lashed with waves. This far West, the Trident meandered and ran slow, but Jon would not want to drive a wagon over the South Bridge in a storm, let alone send out an army to fight. Only the West Gate could be used in all seasons. "I need you to convince a few prisoners to agree to their ransom. Their families have already offered an acceptable price." Jon said.

Jaime Lannister scowled. "That is a poor jest, Snow. I may have broken oaths but I will not betray my house. My father will execute any ransomed prisoners. He will strip their lands and force their families into exile, if he doesn't hang them first."

After the bridge, they turned right to where the Tumblestone met the Western sandstone walls. Lord Crakehall had made his futile stand there with fifteen hundred soldiers. Stark guards hailed Jon as he passed into a small pavilion. Crude wooden poles formed a palisade, fencing in dozens of boys with the gold and brown hair of the Westerlands. They were not shackled but heavy chains were tied to the fence posts, ready for use. Crannogmen with short bows and spears guarded the river to prevent any escape by swimming. Most boys slumped on the ground but one lad with long golden curls stood proudly.

"Uncle Jaime." the boy said, turning emerald green eyes to the Kingslayer. He was tall and lanky, but still a youth at ten and one.

"Tybolt." Jaime said smiling. "You are not hurt."

"No, I jumped into the Tumblestone after the siege tower came down. It killed a dozen knights standing next to me and burnt many horses to death." The boy said.

"I take you know the lad then." Jon said.

"You already know who he is, Snow." Jaime said.

"Tybolt Marbrand, eldest son of Lorent Marbrand and Cassella Lefford. A page for several years at Casterly Rock and squire at Crakehall." Jon said.

"They have shown me my mother's letter. She promises the Northmen a large ransom for my return. But I do not know if I can accept. Will I be seen as a weakling, Uncle Jaime? I do not want to bring shame to my father or grandfather. I would rather die at Riverrun than be branded a coward but my mother begs for my safe return." Tybolt said.

"What acts of bravery do you intend to perform in the dungeon?" Jon quipped.

"I… I think you should go home to Ashemark. There is no shame in being captured or ransomed. Even Prince Aemon the Dragonknight was held prisoner in Dorne." Jaime said.

"Lord Crakehall will not think so. He resisted even though we were outnumbered and surrounded. He wanted the Northmen to pay dearly for our lives." Tybolt said.

"The only thing the Northmen paid was the pitch needed to burn down the siege tower. The brindled boar may be fierce but not very bright. There will be wars to come. You are not yet twelve years of age. You will have other chances to die. There is little honor in dying in a dungeon. Swear an oath not to fight against the Northmen and you can go free." Jon said.

The boy nodded reluctantly, and then hugged Ser Jaime. A few servants from the castle entered with bread and cheese for the prisoners. The guards herded the boys into the corner where they were fed a scanty lunch and drank water from the river.

* * *

Jon Snow walked back over the West Gate, with Ser Jaime in tow. There was a crude workspace in the courtyard, where a wooden wheel stood in the middle of tools, and nails. Several WinterTown boys were sanding down the planks of the wheel while others crafted axles and gears. Satin was attaching a leather skin in between two giant paddles of wood connected with a hinge. The paddles were three feet long. An iron nozzle was at the head of the device.

"What in Seven Hells is that?" Jaime asked.

"It is a bellow for a forge." Jon said, taking out a parchment and quill.

"Do you have giants? Even a huge man would be exhausted pumping those bellows after a few minutes." Jaime said.

"I will show you how it works when we finish. Here." Jon handed the paper to Jaime. "Write a letter to the Golden Tooth. Ask them to send men to escort Tybolt and the others back to the Westerlands. I will write down their names and castles later."

Jaime clenched the quill angrily in his right hand. "You are a bastard. You used me. You knew I would tell Tybolt to go home."

"Of course I did. Those squires are only ten to fourteen years old. Do you want them to die in a dungeon?" Jon said.

"I was fourteen when I fought my first battle." Jaime said.

"You were knighted for helping to defeat the Kingswood Brotherhood. Outlaws protected by the smallfolk." Jon said.

"They were vicious bandits. The Smiling Knight was the Mountain of his time. He was just as cruel, and a better sword." Jaime said.

"And now, you fight on the same side as the Mountain of this time. What does that make you, Ser Jaime?" Jon said. The Lannister knight stayed silent, writing a letter to Lady Myranda Lefford. "Do you know about why the Kingswood Brotherhood was founded?"

"The usual tripe. To fight tyranny. To be a band of brothers. To protect the innocent. I am sure the Kingswood Brotherhood killed as many smallfolk as any other group of bandits." Jaime said.

"No doubt they did, but they were led by Simon Toyne." Jon said.

"I remember him. Brown hair, large droopy ears. He looked like a monkey. He was skilled with the sword though - Ser Barristan killed him." Jaime said.

"House Toyne was from the Stormlands near Cape Wrath and Estermont. Ser Terrence Toyne was a member of the Kingsguard and Aegon the Unworthy found him in bed with his 20 year old mistress, Bethany Bracken." Jon said.

"Wasn't there another Bracken?" Jaime asked.

"Barba Bracken. She was the fifth of Aegon's mistresses. Barba groomed her younger sister to replace Melissa Blackwood. Within a year of becoming the mistress of a fat foul tempered king, Bethany was caught cheating. Ser Terrence and Bethany declared they were in love. Aegon forced Bethany to watch while her lover was dismembered alive, piece by piece. They chopped off his cock, broke every bone in his hands and feet, and then got more creative. It took hours for Ser Terrence to die. Then they killed Bethany and her father, Lord Bracken. Ser Terrence's two brothers tried to avenge him by killing King Aegon but Aemon the Dragonknight died defending his brother. Aegon lasted another six miserable years on the Iron Throne." Jon said.

"And the point of your story?" Jaime asked.

"You are proud of fighting against the Kingswood Brotherhood. And perhaps you should be. Despite the songs, they were robbers and thieves. But what about Aegon the Unworthy? He did more damage than all the bandits that ever lived. Had he died by the Toynes, his brother and Queen Naerys might have guided the next generation." Jon said.

"Aegon was King. An unworthy king but his brother was sworn to serve him. Prince Aemon was a man of honor." Jaime said.

"Yes, and the Seven Kingdoms suffered for it. Had Aegon the Unworthy died at the swords of the Toyne brothers, he would have never legitimized his bastards. There would be no Blackfyre Rebellion. No succession issues. Prince Aemon and Queen Naerys might have lived happily ever after." Jon said.

"You would let the rightful king to the Seven Kingdoms be killed. I thought the Starks were all about duty and honor. Ned Stark is famous for his virtue. He wears it like a suit." Jaime said.

"Family, duty and honor are the words of House Tully. And I am a Snow, not a Stark. Bastards have no house words and don't have the luxury for honor. We only care about destroying our enemies, whoever they are." Jon said.

* * *

Jon waited in the shadows until the ragged group of Riverlords left the solar. That night, Edmure Tully enjoyed a festive dinner in the great hall with boon companions - Marq Piper, Karyl Vance, Patrek Mallister, Lymond Goodbrook. They drank summer wine and told stories about youthful adventures The ones who sought to speak with Robb displayed no such cheer. They did not cringe but they shuffled away wearily, as if the War in the Riverlands haunted their every step. They were the walking wounded, their soldiers decimated by the Lannister attacks, and their hollow faces were nothing like Edmure's jaunty friends.

The lords and ladies were a mixed bunch with a medley of different sigils. There was an old elegant woman, her face marred by grief, with nine bats on a yellow field - Lady Shella Whent. A somber boy with the weight of the world on his narrow shoulders and worried face wore a doublet with a black plowman on a brown field - Lyman Darry. He was the last of a once great family and he could not have been any older than Tybolt. There was a sad man with a black talon on a multicolored field. Lord Lychester might have been a brave knight once but his five sons all died at Robert's Rebellion, two on each side. There were other sigils - a silver tree on a green field, a red salmon on white, three red ducks on a white stripe in a blue field, three white hedgehogs on yellow. They were living victims of the war and if things did not change, would be dead soon. And they had come to Robb Stark, not Edmure Tully, to air their grievances.

"Come on Shella." A graceful brunette in a black and white said, offering her elbow to Lady Whent. The woman was slightly younger than Lady Stark and wore swans and acorns on her dress. Jon wondered if his long lost mother looked like this - calm, beautiful, and caring. Then he shook off thoughts of the past and went in to see his brother. Robb sat at the desk, staring at a cup of ale. He nodded to his brother, and then put aside the cup, in favor for a pitcher of cold river water.

"How bad is it?" Jon said as he took a seat and held up a goblet for water.

"Tywin Lannister set the Riverlands on fire, from the God's Eye to the Red Fork. He left a trail of destruction and misery everywhere, sacking castles and destroying whole villages. They even tore down a church, looted the treasures and raped the septas." Robb said.

"These are sad things, Robb, but you knew this already. The fact that they told you does not change what happened." Jon said.

"The rivermen want to free their castles from Lannister control. They will stay for the tourney but many wish to leave after. They are not pleased with the Tullys." Robb said.

That wasn't great news. Spreading out their forces would play into Tywin Lannister's hands, and Gregor Clegane and the mercenaries had used their mobility to pick off the fractious riverlords one by one. "Do they have enough men to retake those territories?" Jon asked.

"The Riverlords argue, but they also intermarry each other a great deal. Well, not House Mooton and House Darry. Those two have always aspired to greater things and married more with the Reach and the Stormlands. There are many ties for the Whents, the Lychesters, and the Grells. Other rivermen will want to help, and defend their own land. The Pipers and the Vances wish also to return to their land and clear them of invaders." Robb said.

"So, you won't gain troops. You will actually lose them." Jon said.

"Aye. Edmure Tully cannot stop his bannermen from defending their land. And he does not have the forces to protect them. Several Houses have more troops than House Tully." Robb said.

"Is there any way to keep the men here?" Jon asked.

"Hold more tournaments? Give out prizes? We need to have a strategy rather than waiting for Tywin's letter." Robb noticed the gleam in his brother's eyes. "What is it? Do you have something that will inspire them?"

"I might. But I need time to make sure this works. We have finished the letters for releasing the squires. We have received five thousand gold dragons for seventy squires." Jon said.

"And how much of that is actual coin, and not promises?" Robb asked.

"Quite a bit - Four of the five. The families are eager to have them returned. As for the other men, two hundred and fifty have agreed to ransoms totalling twenty thousand dragons but much of that is promises. Many are waiting to see if we exchange Ser Jaime Lannister. They expect the price of a ransom to drop if Lord Stark and our sisters are returned." Jon said.

"And will it?" Robb said.

Jon shrugged. "It depends on how the Lannisters behave. If they leave the riverlands to deal with Stannis or Renly Baratheon, then yes. If they continue to pillage and loot, then they will remain prisoners. More importantly, they have begun to talk, even the men who are not negotiating ransoms. They have told me tales about the Lannisters."

"Anything interesting?" Robb asked.

"Tywin Lannister has been planning for war for a long time. In the last few years, he has increased the forces, improved their armor, and built siege weapons. He gave more men to Clegane and made contact with sellswords. He has been expecting a fight for the Throne."

"Interesting, but why? His grandchildren are already seated on that ugly thing." Robb said.

"There are rumors of the Targaryens returning. There is also talk that Joffrey is reckless and cruel. Perhaps Tywin thought that Robert Baratheon might put the Crown Prince aside, or that Joffrey would spark a civil war." Jon said.

"Even if Joffrey was disinherited, Tommen would be king and he is also Tywin's grandson." Robb pointed out.

"But if succession became an issue, you would want the largest army possible." Jon said. "And Tywin is still hiring mercenaries. A Brax knight says that his cousin traveled from Maidenpool to the Disputed Lands to hire a company of Myrish crossbowmen." Jon said.

"More sellswords." Robb said with disgust.

"Yes, but dangerous ones. Myr is known for crossbows. They have ones that can shoot multiple bolts. More to the point, you need plate to protect against a crossbow. The bolts can pierce leather and chain easily." Jon said.

"So you think these sellswords are to target us, because Northern fighters are less well armored than Southron knights." Robb said. Jon nodded his head. "Tywin is strengthening his army while we sit around wondering what games to play in the tourney. Edmure Tully is asking for a grand melee. I am worried my best fighters will kill each other, and not Lannisters."

"I can strengthen our army but I need to know if I build something at Riverrun, will the Tullys claim it? Will Edmure behave like the Freys with the bridge?" Jon asked.

"Edmure Tully may not be the best at protecting his bannermen but he is no Ser Ryman. I will explain to Edmure that whatever you construct belongs to the North. My uncle is a reasonable man, and the Blackfish will also make him see sense. You have built many things so far, and all of them have helped House Stark." Robb said.

"And I have not even began to use the trebuchets and catapults. I will need to spend gold on iron ore, and require a fair amount of space near the West wall." Jon said.

"Inside or outside the castle?" Robb asked.

"Inside. In the courtyards. I would like to keep my building secret until it is finished." Jon said.

"Done. Any men or gold you need will be fine. I will deal with the Tullys." Robb said.

The two brothers toasted with cups of water. "To the North."

* * *

Jon woke up early the next morning and scarfed a quick breakfast of fresh baked bread and butter. He felt a tremor of excitement as he contemplated the new project, a rush from doing something original and different. He had gotten addicted to this feeling - to be on the precipice of a new discovery, ready to explore uncovered ground. If only the Citadel was like this always, building upon the findings of the past to look further and deeper. Instead, many maesters busied themselves in politics or strutting about like a Tyrell peacock. One day, Jon would find a place where men could learn, experiment and study to expand the limits of human knowledge.

Jon waited until the honor guard entered the great hall. Robb inspired loyalty from the Rivermen and Northerners alike, and many Lords and knights ate meals with the Heir of Winterfell. Jon did not enjoy drawing attention but the bridge had been an effort of the entire army and it would be niggardly to not allow those with interest to help. Robb finished a thick slice of bacon, wiped his mouth, and then raised his voice. "My Lords, my brother Jon has something to say."

"I have something that I wish to build and I require help. It is a large task and my crew will not be able to handle the entire effort. I will need strong men and women for several days." Jon said.

"Maester Snow, are we building a new bridge?" Wylis Manderly asked.

"Perhaps more mighty weapons of death. After all, my name is Catapult Umber for a very good reason." boasted the Smalljon to the rolled eyes of many other Northmen.

"Maester Snow, my brothers are not here, but Karstark soldiers would be happy to help." Eddard Karstark said.

"It is not a single thing but rather a group of machines working together. It should take four or five days. I will explain then." Jon said. "Snow, House Mormont pledges our full support." Maege said.

"Jon, House Stark is behind you. I eagerly await seeing what you build." Robb said, speaking for the Northerners. The Rivermen were a bit more reticent and the Freys muttered angrily while Chett and the Wintertown boys beamed.

* * *

Jon's first act was to shut off the sluice gate. Over the next twenty minutes, the water drained from the West side of Riverrun into the Trident, leaving a wet but empty moat. The Western side would be flooded in any siege but with Ser Jaime in their hands, and Kevan Lannister soon to be delivered into the keep, the sluice gate could be shut. Jon climbed down on a rope and began to measure dimensions. He already had drawn this morning what he intended - the gate to be sealed so that water from Tumblestone flowed only at the top of the channel until it fell on the water wheel from the top. He had found a gap in the castle walls large enough to put a horizontal axle through. The angle of the drop and the small size of the wheel meant the axle would come through only a half foot above the ground.

Jon directed the Mormont and Karstark soldiers to take wood cut by Hornwood and Forrester men to close off the bottom of the sluice. With a few wooden posts, they could built a higher river bed for the Tumblestone to travel when the gate was re-opened.

That would be one part of the operation. The second part would be building the forge. For that, Jon would use the Winter Town crew. He gathered them together to show him how to make fire bricks. They could use clay mixed with sandstone but the brick needed to be fired in a kiln until it was vitrified, hardened into a glass like substance. They would need an immense amount of bricks so Jon dispatched them immediately to gather or purchase the red clay needed.

With the help of the Smalljon, Chett and Clydas dragged back the two remaining siege towers from the field. One frame could be used to construct a ramp for materials, and Jon sketched out a pulley system that could drop those materials into a top hole in the furnace. The second would be a simple scaffold so men could pile the bricks higher. He did not need all thirty feet of the tower but greater height was better than less.

The last part of the project was constructing the tools. Satin and the girls already started making the first of several double chambered bellows. A few tools could be rough - the large trip hammers that would pound down. But the cams and cranks to convert the spinning motion of the axle into vertical movement would require precision. Jon also built facilities to quench the hot metal, but not in water, but rather cooking oil. He knew that cooling down metal too quickly did nothing but quenching in oil and tempering could make the metal hard, sharp and malleable. Making proper steel required balance. If it is too hard, it would not be malleable. Armor would be tougher with less hardness because the metal would not be brittle. Finally, he would need polishing stones attached to a mill to prevent rust.

"Maester Snow, what can I help with?" Gerry asked.

"Actually, I have an important task for you. You know the local merchants?" Jon said.

"Of course, many buy herbs from my mother." Gerry said.

"I need to buy as much iron ore and limestone as possible. Charcoal as well. Plus coke. There is a special type of stone that burns particularly well found in mountainous fields." Jon said.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance." A tall grizzled grey haired man said.

"Ser Brynden?" Jon said with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

The Blackfish snorted. "It is obvious to a blind man you are building something related to weapons. You want iron ore and you are firing bricks to make a furnace. This is clearly as important as any scouting mission. I could help you."

Jon turned to a wide-eyed Gerry. "Ser Brynden is well respected around the Riverlands. If he asks, the merchants will be sure to try their best. Why don't the two of you go together? Remember all the iron ore, limestone, coke you can buy. And tell them that if they can get some more from the North, South, or West, we would buy more. Oh and vegetable oil." Jon said.

"Come on, lad. We have our mission." The Blackfish said.

Jon could hear their voices still as they walked away. "Do you have any idea what he is building?" Gerry said.

"No clue, but anything that can help kill Lannisters is worth building." the Blackfish replied.

* * *

Two days later, the water mill was ready.. A large horizontal axle connected the outside wheel to a smaller gear inside the castle walls. The channel had been constructed, and the wheel had multiple buckets to catch and drop the water to flow into the Red Fork. A small crowd had gathered that morning to see the new water wheel.

Jon directed the sluice gates to be open. Blue white water rushed down the elevated bed, and flowed onto the wheel. The wheel spun backwards, and the water dripped to the bottom of the moat. The waterwheel spun quickly and smoothly. Jon noted the speed of the inner wheel. It was far faster than the giant wheel on the Tumblestone.

"Alright, shut down the sluice gates for now. We will open them when we are ready." Jon said.

"Maester, why does the wheel move so much more quickly than the grist mill?" Chett asked.

"Why do you think?" Jon replied to his Water Town boys.

"Because a lot of the energy is wasted on the big wheel because the bottom is being dragged through the river." Gerry said, a bit too smugly.

"That is the major reason. It also helps we used buckets that hold and release water more quickly. Boys, this is a pitch back wheel. Even with less water, it is more efficient. It is smaller than the wheel on the Tumblestone but yields two to three times more power. We can convert this power to perform a lot of tasks." Jon said.

"Like blowing the bellows?" Satin asked.

"Exactly. There are many things that water can do. Much more than just grinding flour." Jon said. The structure towered over him, but the ramp was even higher. Ten feet of the furnace had been built in the last two days, but the ramp and pulley reached over twenty feet high. The building looked like the bottom of a giant red brick egg, and in the corner, many wagon loads of iron ore, limestone, and charcoal, and oil.

"That looks quite odd, brother." Robb said as he took in the weird brick building.

"It is only half done. When it is finished, you will see the true purpose." Jon said.

"I have heard wild rumors. The septa claims it is some deviltry from the Citadel. And there are whispers that you intend to burn prisoners alive in some sorcerous ritual!" Robb japed.

"Let them say that. Perhaps it will raise the ransoms people will pay." Jon said as the brothers laughed.

* * *

In three more days, the furnace was finished even as the Northern infantry finally came into sight. Dozens of banners could be seen - the flayed man, and the mermaid, the Karstark sun, and many different mountain clans. Harrion and Torrhen Karstark rode at the front with five prisoners, several wearing Lannister colors, roped together in a cart. That morning, lords and knights, Rivermen and Northerners, gathered as Jon revealed his creation. A large crowd had formed at the castle, and servants and ladies stole glances at the enormous 20 foot high brick egg jutting at the sky.

Steward Vayn opened the sluice gates. The water rushed forward and the wheel began to spin. The motion of the wheel was connected to two large bellows that steadily pumped hot heated air into the bottom of the building. Jon had already stuffed burning coals and charcoals into the furnace. The bricks radiated heat and a hot red flames could be seen on top. He had carefully measured the exact proportions last night for the first run. The Smalljon and the Greatjon emptied sacks of iron ore, limestone and coke into the ramp, dropping hundreds of pounds of metal and rocks through a hole in the top. The Umbers dripped sweat as load after load were hauled up with a hook and pulley to be released. The furnace blazed with heat and the central bricks that bulged in the middle glowed white hot, like a scene from the . Jon signalled with his right hand that the loading was finished and the Umbers scurried away.

"It is finished." Jon said proudly, to the gasps of the crowd. They waited and waited and waited for minutes but nothing happened.

"Err. What is supposed to happen?" Robb asked.

"It needs time to work. This is the first run, so perhaps 6 hours." Jon said.

"Will it explode and shoot giant flames at our enemies?" the Smalljon asked.

"No, it simply burns the ore…" Jon started to explain.

"A fire? You brought us all the way here to watch a few rocks burn. I thought with all the excitement, you were about to birth a dragon." Theon Greyjoy snarked as many of the lords grumbled their disappointment.

"This is an improved smelting process. The temperature and energy utilization are quite different from current forges. The limestone binds the impurities from the iron." Jon said.

"Uh, Jon. Perhaps the Lords should return in… how long?" Robb said.

"Six hours, Lord Stark."

* * *

That morning and afternoon, Jon went about his daily routine - ensuring the security of the thousands of prisoners. There were five knights to be placed in the Maidenvault and two hundred more in the miserable Riverrun dungeons. He finished negotiations on thirty more ransoms and interrogated dozens of prisoners, all eager to trade information for their lives.

Jon considered searching for Aysha. The healer continued to deliver a steady supply of herbs and medicine but was nowhere to be found near the castle. According to **The Lineage and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms**, Gerion Lannister was Jaime's uncle and Tywin's youngest brother. He would be thirty years of age when Gerry was born but Gerion had disappeared three years later in a quest. Lions had not taken him away, and Jon doubted any Lannister would let the mother of their child run away to the Riverlands.

Jon ate a hollow heel of bread stuffed with chunks of salt fish fried in bacon grease. The Tullys had prepared tastier dishes, but he had no time for a leisurely meal. Robb was obligated to laugh and smile over lunch with the Northern Lords. Jon preferred to check on the water wheel and measure out limestone. He forced himself not to visit his new creation too often. The furnace would not work faster if he was watching. Plus, it was bloody hot. The heat was so great that the air shimmered in the courtyard. It did not bother him much, but Ghost was discomforted.

"And to think, I was enjoying my uncle's war stories when you pulled me away." Jaime Lannister grumbled as they left the tower.

"War stories - How he was tricked by two green Karstark boys and captured? You wanted to see what I built. So I am bringing you there." Jon said.

"Ah yes, even in the Maidenvault, we have heard of the great show in the morning. Snow's Folly. The Bastard's Blunder." Jaime said.

"Spare me your japes, Ser Jaime. You should be more clever than a Greyjoy. Now come."

The crowd was even larger than the morning. The Mormont girls had showed up as well as all the Tullys. An impassive Roose Bolton stood next to a sneering Rickard Karstark. The Rivermen had shown up, from young Lyman Darry to a sour faced William Mooton. Robb strode forward, trailed by Perwyn Frey and Greatjon Umber.

Robb gave the Kingslayer a funny look before turning to his brother. "Jon, we are all here now."

"Yes, Snow, let's see some more rocks." Theon hooted.

Jon grabbed heavy iron tongs while the Wintertown boys laid down several large stone molds, a block the size of a man's legs, on layers of brick next to the furnace. Wood wheels were attached to a board of hardened clay to move the molds quickly. Very carefully, Jon grabbed a hook on the furnace, and slid open a panel, making a small opening. Hot air gushed out, and the crowd backed away in fear. And then they saw it. A stream of molten steel, white hot like the noon sun, poured down into the mold. After a few minutes, the boys shuttled the brick layer of brick with the precious steel ingot away to a pool. They gently lowered the ingot into a hot oil bath, and brought the stone mold back to Jon. As the crowd stayed silent, Jon oversaw two more ingots, with the same process - pour, quench, and then temper in a kiln.

"Jon, how much can that make?" Robb said in wonder, at the endless stream of molten metal.

Jon turned to face the crowd as Chett, Clydas and the others continued their labors. "This is a blast furnace. It uses iron ore, limestone, and coke to produce steel. Smiths make iron in bloomeries, pits a few feet high, because they can't blow enough air by hand. This solves that problem." Jon pointed to the three massive bellows, pumping steadily up and down from wooden hammers attached to cams on the spinning wheel. "The water wheel generates energy to power these bellows. They blow hot air from the kiln into the furnace, and raise the temperature for the six hours needed smelt the iron ore."

"But how much steel can it make?" Robb asked again, as molten steel continued to fill molds.

"Six hundred pounds." Jon said.

The crowd burst into excited chatter. "You can make six hundred pounds of steel a day?" The Blackfish asked.

"No. I can make eighteen hundred pounds. I can run three batches a day. I would prefer only two." Jon said.

"But even with the steel, you need men to pound it into plates, and then to fit and polish the armor." Roose Bolton whispered.

"And this is why I will only do two batches a day." Eight ingots had already been poured out. Jon called out to Chett and they slid over a large hammer far too large for a man. Jon connected it with a cam to the wheel, and then grabbed an ingot and placed it on an anvil. The hammer was lifted up by the cam, and then crashed down. Jon maneuvered the ingot with tongs as the hammer bashed the ingot into a flat plate. "This triphammer is also powered by the water wheel. It can easily flatten the ingot. The plate does need to be fitted, and then buckles have to be made. But it can also be polished with this machine. Water power can smelt the iron ore, flatten the plates and polish the armor. Only a few functions need a human hand."

"How much armor do you think you can make?" Robb asked.

"With enough helpers, over forty steel breastplates a day. And I can use the rest of the steel for other pieces. Shields, helmets, pauldrons, vambraces, and gauntlets." Jon replied.

"Forty a day. Jon, in a moon's time, you could equip a thousand men!" Robb said.

"Bah, how do we know this iron is strong? It might be brittle and weak." Theon said.

"This isn't iron. This is steel." Jon hung the flattened plate onto the pulley of the ramp next to the forge. The Wintertown crew had brought the last ingot away to be quenched in a pool of hot oil. Jon closed the blast furnace, sliding the brick panel shut with tongs. "Eddard Karstark, would you do the honors?"

The youngest Karstark stepped up, and with a loud cry, slammed a battle axe with both arms into the steel. He struck several times before backing away. The astonished bystanders could see no change in the metal plate.

Robb inspected the steel with care. "There is not even a dent. This plate can take a sword blow without a mark."

"Or a crossbow bolt. Improved armor may save the lives of those eager to rush into battle. We are not done yet. Molds for helmets, shields and greaves need to be made. I have to learn how to make swords, arrowheads and spears from the ingot. And I will need more workers to help produce weapons and fit armor." Jon said

"You will have everything you need." Robb said, staring with open admiration at the enormous brick monstrosity that had smelted vast quantities of iron.

Jon chuckled. "It is not the furnace you should admire. It is the water wheel. The wheel can do so many things. If I had the time, water power would change the Seven Kingdoms, from the North all the way to Dorne."

* * *

Author's Note

By 1086, there were 5,624 water mills in England alone. Industrial mills began to appear in the 12th and 13th century and served a variety of purposes such as crushing ore in mines, saw mills, tanning and even making paper. The first recorded use of a water mill for a blast furnace was 1384 in France but that may not be accurate. It is quite clear that medieval smiths producing armor and weapons for kings were using water power.

The description of the Water Wheel at Riverrun comes from a wiki of Fire and Ice. It is clear that it is submerged into the river. These stream wheels are quite inefficient, requiring a great deal of water and converting roughly 20% of the energy. The undershot wheel, where they create a channel for the water is a bit better, but the right way to build a waterwheel is overshot and pitchback where the water hits the wheel at the top. The Romans realized that by the time of the Empire and possible way before.

One reviewer mentioned the Cistercian monks. This religious order was founded in 1098 in Dijon, France. They were absolutely incredible in how they adapted and taught technology. Saint Bernard (1090-1153) took over the order, and gained social freedom by utilizing water mils to provide financial independence! That is amazing. They built monasteries on artificial canals that ran through the whole building. They were advanced in using water power for agriculture, milling, wood cutting, olive oil presses and forging metals. They even used running water for sewage disposal. The Cistercians were so renowned that kings would bring iron ore to the monastery to be smelted into iron with the monks keeping the surplus. It is a good example of how the Dark Ages weren't as dark as people imagined.

The blast furnace was a tremendous innovation. Bloomeries produced small amounts of iron with a lot of impurities and very little carbon, so it required a great deal of retreatment. The blast furnace was capable of reaching the temperature of molten metal and limestone would bind the impure elements away. Blast furnaces were invented in China and Du Shi (AD 31) used water wheels and piston bellows to make cast steel in a blast furnace. The Chinese used coke instead of charcoal as early as the fourth century AD. Historians believed that it moved to Europe by 1200 AD, possibly due to the silk route. By 1830, without the benefit of new innovations like the Bessemer process, a blast furnace could make 4 tons of steel a day.

There are a lot of resources about the mass manufacture of armor. The best source is a book called** The Knight and the Blast Furnace** by Alan Williams. Unfortunately it is $400 on Amazon. Several places in Europe actually mass produced armor, the most famous being Milan. In 1427, after a major battle, Milanese armorers produced 6000 sets of armor in a matter of days. The technology is what is described - furnaces to smelt iron ore, hammers and rollers to flatten the plate, polishers using water power. US History teaches that the assembly line was used first with guns but that's not really true. In Milan, they had division of labor - people who only worked on a single aspect of production. So Jon Snow's ideas are radical but they are all achievable, especially for a prodigy in metallurgy with an army full behind him.

Lastly, the difference between iron and steel is that steel is an alloy of iron and carbon. There is a bunch of ways of adding carbon to the metal but too much carbon would not work either. I researched this but it is too hard to describe and I may not fully understand the chemistry. As a shortcut, just imagine that Jon has figured out the right ratios for limestone, charcoal, coke (made from heating a special type of coal), and how to blow hot air into the furnace. He made a presentation to the Citadel on this topic in Chapter One.


	12. Parabellum

**Parabellum**

In his dreams, Jon travelled to many places. He heard the giant roar of the Titan of Braavos at sunrise, a great gust of air squeezed through pipes running from the massive bronze breastplate to the mouth of the giant stone head, four hundred feet above sea level and crowned by a wig of green dyed hempen hair. He walked the ruined Great Pyramid of Ghis, built as a mausoleum for Grazdan the Great, King of Kings, the emperor who declared he was greater than the Gods. The monument was haunted by bats and spiders, and the outlying city turned to ash and cinder by dragonflame, the fields sown with salt, sulfur and the skulls of the masters. He sailed through the Jade Gates, in defiance of the perfumed lords of Qarth. Pale men with blue lips gibbered in some unknown tongue and hopped from foot to foot in a pitiful pantomime. Warlocks had no true power - if they did, they would not serve greedy merchant princes or hide like rats in the House of the Undying.

The island was damp and dreary, but warmed by sulfur. The rocks were dark gray and black, with streaks of red and purple. Obsidian, Jon thought. Forged in the fires of a volcano, hard and brittle but amorphous as glass, fracturing with sharp edges. The children of the forest had no metal and hunted with blades of obsidian. He smelled the stink of brimstone, and saw the outline of the volcano through the gray mist, steam rising from vents. The Dragonmont - he was on the island of Dragonstone.

The castle stood below the Dragonmont - grim and forbidding, built of dark stone at the entrance of Blackwater Bay. Hundreds of gargoyles leered from the walls, carved in the shape of basilisks, cockatrices, hellhounds, minotaurs and wyverns but they were nothing compared to the dragons. The Sea Dragon Tower was shaped like a dragon gazing serenely across the sea. The Windwyrm was a tower where the dragon screamed defiance. Even the Great Hall of the Stone Drum was carved as a dragon, doors set so those entering passed through its mouth. The Targaryens knew well the grief and glory of their house. But stone dragons were nothing compared to a living beast and here on the Dragonstone, so many eggs had hatched: Vhagar, Meraxes, Vermithor and Silverwing. Even wild dragons clustered in the Dragonmont.

Jon saw her rushing to the Windwyrm. She was a skinny little thing, wrapped up in gray and black, darting and dodging in the shadows of the dragons. Her hair was tied up under a gray shawl, and she carried a brown leather pouch, strapped over her gray tunic. From a distance, she looked like Arya, wild and quick. Jon chased after her as she climbed the stairs of the tower.

He sensed the magic even before he heard the roar - an immense power, unable to be contained or truly tamed. The roof of the tower was covered in shadow by vast black wings. The dragon's shadow was so great that it covered much of the castle in darkness. The scales were black, the teeth longer than a two handed sword, and the large black eyes gazed down at the girl like a god overseeing a sacrifice. The girl had unwrapped her shawl, and Jon could see the silver-gold hair and purple eyes. Her face was young but troubled. She might have been older than Arya but not by many name days.

"Please. Take me home." she said to the dragon, and Jon knew then who she was.

The girl was Aerea Targaryen, first and only one who ever bore that name. The archmaesters called her willful and defiant but she had suffered, as an orphan and as a pawn of her mother and supposed friends. Her father, Aegon the Uncrowned, died at the age of 17 killed by his uncle Maegor the Cruel, near the God's Eye. Her mother had forsaken her for eight years, and then taken her from King's Landing as a spiteful gesture to King Jaeherys and Queen Alysanne. Aerea hated Dragonstone, and wanted to do nothing more than mount a dragon and fly away. She wanted to sail the seas, and have great adventures. Aerea chose the wrong dragon.

Balerion flew home to Old Valyria. The dragon and its rider could not be found for a year despite the best efforts of the king and the Small Council. When she returned, she was dying, rail thin with a burning fever and flesh sticking to her bones. Her clothes were tattered, her hair matted and tangled, and her eyes bloody and raw. Strange swellings moved under her skin, trying to escape and burning her flesh and skin, cooking and eating her alive. Aerea just wanted to be free. The Gods were cruel. Why did they sentence a young girl to such monstrous horror?

"Help me, please. Save me." she cried. But no one saved Aerea Targaryen. The dragon would only deliver her to doom.

The history of House Targaryen was rife with tragedy and bloodshed. Aegon the First was celebrated as a conqueror but his son Maegor was brutal, craving power, violence, and total dominion over his family. The Targaryens were full of kinslayers and miscreants, and madness and cruelty lurked under the Valyrian beauty. Some victims were preserved in song - knights and kings who died on the battlefield, male heirs who were betrayed. But no one sang about the women. They may not have sat on the Iron Throne, but they still bled. Jon thought of Helaena who saw her six year old son butchered as retribution for another kinslaying. That killing, a fourteen year old boy, was Lucerys Velayron, and his mother Rhaenyra saw three of her boys killed in the Dance. Even Queen Alysanne had ten children die before her death, and the last, a simple minded girl, killed herself after being seduced and giving birth to a still born.

But no death was as horrible or unnecessary as Princess Aerea. She was a wild dragon, who just wanted to be free, like Arya, his brave little sister. I wish I could save you, Jon thought - that I could fly to Valyria and rescue you from the doom. He would build Aerea a sturdy carrack, with four masts, square sails and a lateen mizzen, suitable for deep waters with a hull and beam better than the Sun Chaser. He would rub an iron needle with a lodestone to point North, so the ship could sail west of Westeros across the uncharted waters of the Sunset Sea.

"How can you save her?" a mocking voice hissed. "Jon Snow cannot fly to Valyria."

He ignored Bloodraven. He would save them - all of them - so that one day, young girls did not die for their family's sins. What was honor if it could not protect the innocent? And then he woke.

* * *

Jon stood up in the darkness, the only light a nearly full moon. He reached for Ghost, and could feel the white wolf a dozen miles away, howling with his brother Grey Wind. They feasted on the flesh of a small stag, happy not to eat any more trout. Jon opened the cage and concentrated. The raven squawked a bit, but then flew out the window. The bird was far less welcoming than Ghost, but Jon could slide his mind into the raven's eyes for a few minutes at a time.

The grounds below hosted thousands of tents, and the Army of the North and the Riverlands camped on all sides of the castle. Near the castle, past the spinning water wheel on the West Gate, waist high wooden barriers had been set up for the joust. Carpenters had built three tiers of benches, a viewing stand with a red and blue canopy in the middle, to protect lords and ladies from the rain. A few pavilions had been erected but Jon was more interested in the dozens of cruder tents, clustered near the Tumblestone. These were for the wine sellers, armorers and well off merchants, attracted by prospects for commerce. Poorer tradesmen would set up shop soon, to hawk fried sausages, fresh bread and boiled eggs.

The games started in three days, but already, knights, squires and lordlings had started to arrive. Even ladies were able to travel, accompanied by only a small number of guards, due to the relative calm that had fallen over the Riverlands. Rumors flew of the thousands of captives held in oubliettes to be sacrificed on weirwood altars, although the bards sang of Jaime Lannister's mighty feats in battle, slaying dozens of knights. The singers claimed that the Lion of Lannister had been defeated by trickery, not by honest battle. There were even wilder stories, of a giant tower that spat out steel straight from the fires of hell and that Lord Tully had been poisoned, although no one could agree whether it was the Riverlords, the lions or the wolves behind the heinous act. It was undeniable that monstrous dire wolves fought for the North, a sign that House Stark was either blessed by the bloody gods of the North or full of foul shapeshifters.

The raven returned to the castle, ready for sleep. Before the bird flew into the window, Jon saw candle light through the stone balcony of the solar. He knew that it could not be Hoster Tully and he doubted that Edmure would be awake. He walked out to seek his brother.

Jon found Robb poring over a map of the Riverlands, paying special attention to where the Three Forks of the Trident met with the river road. Jon refilled his brother's cup with water and waited until his brother was finished marking the parchment.

"I couldn't sleep. I expected the Lannisters today. They are certainly taking their sweet time." Robb said. It had been over a week since Lord Mallister had been dispatched East.

"They may already be here. There are new pavilions and tents, and it would not surprise me if Lannister guards arrived early." Jon replied.

Robb ran a hand through his red hair. "Roose Bolton claims the tourney will be dangerous. The grounds will be full of informants, reporting to King's Landing and other lords."

Jon had no doubt that the Leech Lord had his own spies, prowling the tourney grounds. "He is right. Spies can be hidden among the knights and smallfolk attending the games. But we have twenty thousand men and the castle will be sealed tight. And the crowds work in our favor as well. We can release prisoners from the dungeons to head south or west." Jon said.

"We have gotten ravens from as far as Oldtown, expressing interest in the tourney. But nothing from the Vale. My aunt is silent." Robb said.

"It could be Petyr Baelish's influence. If he took her maidenhead, he may be swaying her to the Lannister side." Jon said.

"My lady mother does not believe the Kingslayer's words. She thinks of Petyr still as her childhood friend. She asked Baelish to help Father in King's Landing. She says that Aunt Lysa sent a raven to Winterfell, about her hatred of the Lannisters." Robb said.

"Actions matter, not words. Father was helped by someone, perhaps Baelish, into the Black Cells. And if Lady Arryn truly hated the Lannisters, she would send the Knights of the Vale to fight, not write a letter." Jon said.

"I agree. Lady Stark is angry with you." Robb said.

Catelyn Stark was unhappy often but she had been particularly annoyed this week, over the blast furnace. Lady Stark argued that he should gift a suit of plate to each of the great houses of the North, especially Lord Bolton and Lord Karstark. Jon chose instead to honor the Mormonts, replacing patched ring mail and chain with steel. The She-Bear received the first true set of armor - breastplate, pauldrons (thicker on the right side), gauntlets, tassets, greaves and a visorless helmet with a Y shaped opening for the eyes and mouth. Maege Mormont looked like an armored bear, and was just as dangerous. "I stand by my decision - the Mormonts have been the most loyal allies of House Stark for a thousand years." Jon said.

"And now, they are House Stark's best armored fighters." Robb jested.

"I forged armor and weapons for your guard as well. Loyalty is forged in battle. Those who fought bravely deserve to be rewarded." Jon said. Unspoken was the fact that Rickard Karstark and Roose Bolton had seen no battle yet.

"My lady mother thinks you favor the She Bears for other reasons. Are you not sparring with Dacey, Lyra and Jory in secret?" Robb said.

"Robb, you wanted me to train with weapons. Dacey is an excellent fighter, and she and her sisters are happy to spar late in the day. Unlike some, I cannot spend all my time preening before the men in the yard." Jon said.

"Late in the day…. Is there a betrothal I should be aware of? A baby she-bear to be named the Heir's Heir of Bear Island?" Robb japed.

"Dacey beats the hell out of me daily. And her sisters are skilled as well with the mace. I have many bruises to prove that. Unless the Mormont courting ritual is a melee, I do not think I will not be married anytime soon." Jon said grumpily.

Robb laughed and decided not to tease any further. "The Mormonts are loyal bannermen, and I am glad you armored them. Your judgment is good. Jon, I need your counsel more than ever. I worry about this meeting. The Lannisters are clever and tricky. I do not fear facing Tywin Lannister over the battlefield. The negotiation table is a different matter."

"You have my support. But Tywin Lannister will not come to Riverrun. We will negotiate with his messenger before the Old Lion gives his final say." Jon said.

"And if he does not give an acceptable offer?" Robb said, arching his eyebrows.

"Then we fight. As you said, House Stark is good at battle. Our ancestors only bowed to the dragons, and a lion is no dragon." Jon said.

* * *

Jon finished the morning with a thick, creamy seafood stew. It was not quite the famous dish of the Three Sisters, the islands south of White Harbour and north of the Mountains of the Moon, but it warmed him to the bones. River crabs had been substituted for spider and red crabs, but the stew had cod, crab and clams in a stock of heavy cream and butter with leeks, carrots and turnips. Jon enjoyed the simple but hearty food. He was sure the feasts that the stewards were preparing for the tournament would not be any more satisfying.

For the past week, Jon settled into a busy and productive routine. He woke up at dawn, and after washing his face and hurrying through a breakfast of bread and cheese, measured the fuel, iron ore, and limestone mix for the blast furnace. With Satin and Chett, he reviewed the production from the day before. Dozens of eager smallfolk - boys and girls - joined the Winter Town Crew and Satin's whores to work with the furnace and forge. Jon paid good wages with a small fraction of the ransom proceeds. Jon could have sold the steel for high prices but he chose to armor those loyal to House Stark first. That might change but not until the Mormonts, Robb's Honor guard and the Rivermen eager to retake their castles were better equipped.

After he gave orders for the furnace and the forges, Jon went to see the prisoners in the dungeons. He dealt with the captives three times a day: mid morning, in the afternoon, and one last session at night. Most had little to add - peddling tales known to many such as Tywin Lannister's dislike for his heir apparent Tyrion, or Joffrey Baratheon's cruelty at Casterly Rock. A boy who terrorized his younger siblings promised to be a dreadful man. Did Ned Stark not have any inkling before Sansa's betrothal ? Or did his Lord Father allow his friendship with Robert to blind him to the Crown Prince's faults? And now, that vicious child was the King. Of all Robert Baratheon's many failings, that might have been the worst - a cruel and evil heir.

"Snow, this armor doesn't fit." Jory Mormont complained. The steel plate hung down to the tops of her thighs, and Jory slapped her chest. "It is too tight and narrow."

"That is not yours. That is for Dacey, your older sister." Jon said.

"No wonder it is too small for my teats." Jory said, laughing. Her sister Lyra helped her take the breastplate off her thick leather undershirt.

"You need to get fitted for plate mail. You can't just wear anything you like." Jon said.

Jory smirked suggestively. "And are you going to measure my breasts for the plate?"

Jon rolled his eyes. 'Lanny." The brown haired girl rushed to his side. She wore a heavy apron, and had tied her curly hair under a gray rag. "Please help Jory."

Theon Greyjoy sneered. "Snow, you have girls working at the forge. A beauty like that belongs somewhere else."

"Most of the labor is done with water power - triphammers, polishing stones. Lanny can measure and fit armor, or sew leather buckles as well as any." Jon said.

"Perhaps you can help with my breeches. They are too tight." Theon smirked to the young girl. Lanny froze and looked down at her feet.

"Piss off, Greyjoy. Women can fight better than you. And now, they can make better armor than the crap you squids wear. What's next?" Jory said.

"We are better sailors than any. Hard men to rule hard places. The iron born are natural warriors and raiders." Theon boasted.

"The best sailors in the world do more than sack villages." Jon said. He thought about Elissa Farman on the _Sun Chaser_ and Corlys Velaryon's expeditions on the _Sea Snake_. They were the greatest explorers Westeros had ever known. "And the next time the Ironborn raid Bear Island, they will find that Mormonts in steel plate can crush men in iron chain."

* * *

Jon left the hall to go to the dungeons. He was tempted to visit the maidenvault, and speak to Kevan and Jaime Lannister. The Lesser Lannister had no lands, but he fed two hundred knights, and commanded thousands more men. Kevan may not have been as cunning as Tywin but a solid and steady follower was not to be underestimated on the battlefield. Jon played games of cyvasse with the Kingslayer. Jaime's approach to the game was exactly as expected - a rash boldness that seemed winning but once weathered, led to defeat. Jon promised a bottle of Arbor Gold if Jaime could defeat him. He was never in danger of losing the bet, although he had poured a few glasses of fine summerwine for the Lannister knight.

Jon hoped that the Lannisters would agree to a fair exchange of hostages but he had no illusions about peace. Tywin burned the riverlands for the arrest of his least liked son. The Old Lion would not forget or forgive the capture of his favorite child or the three humbling defeats. There would be conflict between Stark and Lannister in the future - the only question was whether it would be in weeks or years. Understanding exactly how Kevan and Jaime approached battle would serve House Stark well in the wars to come.

That afternoon, Jon negotiated ransoms with six prisoners, sifting through the secrets they offered. That took time and most men had little of value to say. Still, so long as they did not lie, Jon gave them credit for their attempts. The seventh man entered the room, with small sharp close-set green eyes and dirty blond hair on a big broad face.

"Your name?" Jon said.

"Rey, my Lord. I cannot pay seventy five gold dragons." the man said.

"I am no lord. You are a mounted soldier, but no knight. Whose household do you serve?" Jon asked.

"No one, Ser. I am a miller's son."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "How do you have a charger? And who trained you to fight on horse?"

"My grandfather was a knight, Ser. He served Roger Reyne, the Red Lion. My father fled for his life, and rather than be killed, purchased a mill at Sarsfield. We sell grain from Silver Hill to the Golden Tooth."

"Your grandfather died at Castamere?" Jon asked.

"Aye, ser. Grandfather, Grandmother and my uncles. In the mines with their liege lord."

Tywin Lannister had diverted water from a river into the mines of Castamere, drowning knights, women, children and servants. The bards in the Westerlands sang the song endlessly. "And what secret do you have to sell?" Jon asked.

"I know how the Lannisters are sending food to the army. They are bringing supplies to the Golden Tooth, to be transported over the riverroad." the man said.

"Why would they do that? It would be easier to use the Gold Road. That begins at Lannisport and winds south, avoiding any major castles in the Riverlands. The wagons could reach Harrenhal quickly and safely." Jon asked.

"Aye, Ser. But Leo Lefford is Lord of the Golden Tooth. He is a sour man and wants as much credit possible. He is in charge of the Lannister stores and supplies. So all the grain is sent to the Golden Tooth and moved east." the man said.

"Interesting. Your name is Rey? What is that short for?" Jon said.

"Reynard, Ser."

"Ah, Roger Reyne's younger brother is your namesake. Your family is still loyal to the Reynes." Jon said.

"My father says the Red Lion was the greatest man he ever knew. But that is in the past. I just want to live. I don't want to die in no dungeon." Reynard said.

No one does, Jon thought. "Your secret is valuable. I will reduce the ransom to thirty five gold dragons. And I will offer you another reward. I wish to know how and when the supplies are being shipped to the Golden Tooth. If you serve well, the ransom will be forgiven completely. And I will also pay ten gold dragons for any information I deem valuable enough to break the supply train." Jon said.

"The army buys our grain. But how would I inform you, ser? I have no ravens."

"I will release prisoners every week for the next few moons. Wagons will transport men back and forth into the Westerlands. Find one of the wagon drivers and give them a note." Jon said.

The man gulped. "Yes, ser. But I don't want to see any more killing."

"Tywin Lannister started the killing by attacking the Rivermen. And I want the fighting to end. You are not the only one who wishes to return to his family." Jon said.

* * *

Jon walked out of the castle, dressed in a plain brown tunic with a gray hood over his dark locks. Smallfolk outside whispered and pointed to the blast furnace, and did not see the white wolf following his master. Jon left Robb's guards behind, and while he enjoyed the company of the Mormonts and Smalljon and the Karstark brothers, they were skilled at fighting, not stealth. He carried a dirk on his belt but no sword. Ghost would be more dangerous than any sword.

Dozens of merchants had erected stalls on the grounds West of Riverrun. They sold roasted meats, fruits, ale, wine, cloaks, hats, whetstones, pots of clay and pewter, and all sorts of other goods. Jugglers and bards wandered among the crowds, plying their trades and so did cutpurses and whores. Jon looked for a table selling herbs and medicine.

At first, Jon did not recognize Aysha. The wood witch was garbed in simple brown homespun wool, revealing a slender and attractive figure. Her long straight black hair was not bound under a gray shawl but with a black ribbon. He followed her at a distance until she walked into a large tent. Outside, sausages sizzled over a smoky fire, but inside, a large crowd watched a troupe of puppeteers working two wooden knights in a sword battle - Ser Duncan the Tall versus Lord Lyonel Baratheon. Ser Duncan won the trial by combat. Jon smiled. In song, the Flea Bottom knight won every duel.

Jon bought a few sausages with a copper coin. The troupe leader, a large fat Dornishmen, bowed to the crowd. He looked nothing like the two others, a dark haired cheerful boy and a tall, slim black haired girl. A middle aged brown haired woman alternated between selling brown ale in horns and sitting paying customers in chairs near the front.

"Now, sers, we will tell the great tale of the War between the Wolf and the Lion." the ringmaster announced.

Three lion puppets strutted about the stage, roaring and trampling other animals. The arrogant lions declared themselves the mightiest of all beasts, and demanded tribute, devouring any that refused to pay. A stag objected, but the noble beast was dragged down to the ground and slain. All was lost until a majestic grey wolf attacked the lions, the big cats running away in fear. The grey wolf sat triumphantly in the middle of the stage.

"And this was the Grey King, the Lord of Winter, whose name was Stark." the Dornishman announced to oohs and aahs from the admiring crowd.

"Did the Grey King win?" a voice shouted out.

"Alas, no." the ringmaster cried. "The lions agreed to the parley."

The wolf and a lion puppet sat down at a table, but the two other lions suddenly attacked from behind, biting and ripping at the wolf's back. The crowd looked on with horror at the sudden reversal. The wounded Grey King crawled back north, leaving the triumphant pride of lions to celebrate over the dead stag.

"But, the story does not end." the Dornishman said. The tall slim dark haired girl brought out another puppet - a white wolf. "There was another, a bastard beast born by the Stranger itself. Some say the creature was named White Fang, others that only sorcerers and witches of Qarth dare to utter the true name, lest they be dragged away to burn in a fiery furnace. But White Fang came upon the lions as they feasted, and killed them all."

The girl puppeteer manipulated the strings with alacrity, and the white wolf battered the lions into submission. Jon was impressed by her dexterity and skill, but not by the wolf puppet which looked nothing like Ghost. The eyes and the teeth were all wrong.

"What happened next?" a boy asked.

"Did White Fang usurp his brother?"

"Did Grey King die?"

"Did the other lions seek revenge?"

"Does White Fang become King? Or do the stags kill him?"

"You will have to find out later in the shows to come." the Dornishman said with an enigmatic smile, as he and the woman cleared the tent out for the next show. Jon stayed in the shadows, as the crowd left, buzzing about what they saw. Aysha also remained and helped the ringmaster pack the puppets while the older woman collected coins.

Jon went up to the thin dark haired puppeteer. Even kneeling on the ground, she looked taller than most girls. "Milord?" she asked with a half smile.

"You have great skill with the puppets. What is your name?" Jon asked.

"Anselle, Milord." she said with a slight curtsy.

"And the woman speaking to the ringmaster - do you know her name?" Jon said.

"Tysha, m'Lord. My father knew her a decade ago. After Robert's Rebellion, he made a great trip with his mummer's troupe, all the way from Dorne to the Westerlands. I was only a babe then, but she cared for me for a little while." She said.

"I apologize, ser, but we will need to clean the tent for the next show." the fat man said.

A white dire wolf popped his head into the tent, sniffing hungrily. Jon sighed and bought a dozen more sausages with a few coins, and then fed them to a happy Ghost.

"Begging pardon, Milord. We meant no offense." the Dornishman stuttered, his olive skin turning paler than Sansa. The other troupe members stared at the ground and Aysha stood protectively in front of the boy and woman.

"A bastard beast borne by the Stranger?" Jon smiled. "No offense taken. But my brother's wolf is Grey Wind, not Grey King. And this is Ghost." The white wolf glanced at his puppet and then bored, turned again to the sausages.

"M'Lord, we are simple entertainers. Tales of your hatred of Lannisters and the fiery furnace of doom have been spread by others." the man gulped.

"I am curious. When you travel to other lands, what do you perform?" Jon asked.

The fat man looked apologetic. "Well, in the Westerlands, the lions win. In the Reach, they like tales of chivalry and knights - so Florian the Fool and his beloved Jonquil. In the Stormlands, we sing of the Victory at Ruby Ford. In Dorne, the sun triumphs over all."

"And in the North?" Jon asked curiously.

"The North is so far and cold, and they don't have tourneys or fairs." The man said.

"Aye, we just sweep down South to kill lions. Perhaps one day, you will come North." Jon said. He took twenty silver coins from his pouch and handed to the older woman. "It was an excellent performance and your puppets are well carved. Ghost has red eyes though and his teeth are not dripping in blood. If you would correct that…"

"Thank you, M'Lord." the man said.

"I can paint him better, ser. Now that I have seen the dire wolf, it will be easy." Anselle said. Ghost sniffed the air, but whether he was smelling her hand or looking for more sausages, Jon could not tell.

"Maester Snow, you are not offended? Garin and Cedra can keep performing this play?" Aysha asked hopefully.

"Words do not matter. No, it does not bother me. Good fortune to you all and I hope the crowds are plentiful during the tourney. If I could trouble you for another batch of sausages - I am sure Grey Wind will enjoy some." Jon said, fishing out some more copper coins.

* * *

Jon walked back to the castle with a dour dire wolf. Jon had wrapped two dozen links, intending for Ghost to share with his litter mate at the castle. The smell of the meat juice seeped through the cloth, and Ghost licked his teeth in eager anticipation. "You have already had over a dozen." Jon said, rubbing the white wolf's head.

Aysha hurried from the tent and caught up with him. "Maester Snow. Thank you for your understanding. My friends meant no harm."

"No matter. Better to be frightening than frightened. I know no sorcerers or witches though, but I suppose most men from the Riverlands could not tell Dorne from Qarth." Jon japed.

"You know me. I am a wood witch." Aysha said. With her long black hair, and brown dress, she looked like a young peasant girl at the fair.

"When I first met you, I thought you must be at least forty years of age, with the grey shawl and the stooped back. But you are not that old, are you Tysha?" Jon said.

She froze and trembled, like a faun ready to bolt from hunters. Her hands wrapped around her chest as if slender arms could somehow protect her from a cruel world. "What do you know?"

"Not much. You came from the Westerlands. You are young, and even if you have a son of twelve name days, you cannot be older than thirty. Someone very wealthy gave you the book on herbs, and other books. But I can guess quite a bit." Jon said.

"And what do you guess, Maester?" she said.

Jon looked around to make sure no one was near. They walked to the water, where the rushing current was too loud for them to be overheard. The river guarded the North and Ghost could drive off any interlopers from the South. "Gerion is a Lannister, isn't he? That's why you fled to the Riverlands. You are a lowborn. Did they threaten to beat you?" Jon said.

Tysha's eyes turned cold and she stared over the blue white water of the Tumblestone. "They did much more than that. I wish they had killed me. But I lived for my child." She stopped, and for a brief moment, Jon feared that she would throw herself into the river but Aysha or Tysha was made of sterner stuff. "What will you do, Ser? Will you tell Gerry?"

"It is your secret. Do you wish revenge on the Lannisters?" Jon asked.

"I want to be safe, to know that Gerry will not be harmed or taken away from me." Aysha said.

Jon scratched his head with his right hand. "Surely the Lannisters will not harm their own blood. Even they would not hurt a bastard."

"Gerion is not a bastard." she said, her eyes both angry and sad. "Please, you do not know what the Lannisters are capable of, what Tywin Lannister can do. He is a monster, and I want him nowhere near my son."

"I swear on my family's honor to keep your secret, Aysha. I will tell no one." Jon said.

"Thank you, Maester. You are a good man." she said. "How can I repay you?"

Jon shrugged. He doubted that he was good, but did not wish to burden Aysha with more worry. She had suffered enough. "I am curious about something. How did you leave the Westerlands? Isn't the border watched carefully?"

"The Golden Tooth guards the river road and Deep Den looks over the Gold Road but there are several passages through the mountains. I can show you, but crossing that way is not easy. A small troupe of mummers may do so, if they wish to avoid the Tooth." she said.

Jon wondered which was the right way to the Westerlands. Both the Tooth and the Goldroad were a hundred fifty miles away due west and south respectively. The road would be easier terrain for horses and wagons but the Lannisters would spot them easily. The Tooth was a small castle but commanded the high ground at the border. And it was close enough to Ashemark and Sarsfield that any siege would face dangers from other Lannister bannermen.

* * *

That night, Jon and Robb took dinner in Lord Tully's solar with their dire wolves who laid down near the fire. Grey Wind had taken more than his fair share of the sausages but his brother did not complain. Both wolves rested quietly, normal for Ghost but unusual for the rambunctious grey wolf. Robb ate trout roasted with bacon and Jon had a stoup of thick barley and beef stew. A dish of buttered beets sat on the table near stacks of letters and worn down and unlit candles.

Edmure Tully had come earlier that night to talk of the tourney that began in two days. He smiled more now, excited for the coming pageantry. Edmure had grown a fiery red beard, and with his fine wool doublet in Tully colors emblazoned with leaping silver trout, looked every bit the Heir of Riverrun. The door to the solar was open so lords and knights could speak to the two brothers. Edmure had appointed his friend Marq Piper as Master of the Games. Jon was more interested in hearing from the Manderly brothers, who Robb had tasked with watching for any strangers or unknown knights. Rivermen had volunteered to patrol the grounds to provide tight security although Blackwood and Bracken men were separated.

Olyvar Frey opened the door, escorting an excited young Mallister. "Lord Stark, the men on the east wall have sighted my father's banners only a few miles away." Ser Patrek said.

"Good, they have returned. That means Tywin's messenger is near." Robb said. He was anxious but eager to begin negotiations.

Brynden Tully entered the room with his sister. "Lord Stark, we have spotted banners approaching. To the West and South."

"West and South? Who approaches from the West?" Robb said.

"A Golden lion on a crimson field. And others that we cannot see in the dusk." Catelyn said.

Tytos Blackwood and his three sons burst through the doors. "My Lord, a host of men come from the North."

"Do you think we are under attack?" Brynden Blackwood asked.

Robb shook his head. "We have twenty thousand men, well rested, and the castle is stocked with plentiful food and supplies. Even a fool would refrain from attacking us. At most, Tywin Lannister has thirty thousand men. He would not win a battle here." He paused for a second. "Find out more from the men on the walls. Edmure, you should meet Lord Mallister when he returns. Mother, we need to prepare for our guests."

Robb waited until the solar emptied, leaving only the two brothers and their wolves. He ordered Olyvar to stand guard outside the closed door and ensure that no one would eavesdrop. "Jon…"

Jon Snow nodded. He opened a cage hanging in the corner, and released a black raven out the window. The raven flew in an awkward circle until Jon sat down and his eyes turned milky white. Jon directed the bird south, flying over the sandstone walls. He saw several dozen mounted men with banners from the Reach - a golden horn of plenty spilling out fruits on a white field bordered by yellow, a white sun and chevron and orange, and apples on yellow, both red and green. He wondered if Owen Fossoway was in the group. The bird turned West. A small battalion of armed men approached with a white flag of parley. The sigil of the gold lion was foremost but there was also an orange burning tree on a smoky field and a gold pile on a sky blue field with a golden sun to the left. He headed north. The group there was the least in number, but made up of hard men riding garrons and shaggy ponies. The sigils were all variations on one theme - a silver scythe on a black field. The man at the front was armored in plate with oversized pauldrons and riding under a scythe quartered with a peacock. Finally the raven turned east to a sea of golden lions, the banners flying proudly. A hundred soldiers in mail and chargers rode under the Lannister colors, accompanying a wheelhouse. Jon allowed the raven to rest atop a pine tree.

Jon turned to his brother. The two dire wolves paced restlessly in the solar. "Enemies to the West, enemies to the East. The Southerners are from the Reach - House Merryweather, Ashford and Fossoway. The men from the West are coming to parley - House Marbrand, House Lefford, and House Lannister. They must have ridden from the Golden Tooth. The North are Ironborn - House Harlaw but several cadet branches. And the East is all Lannister."

"Can you see the messenger?" Robb asked.

"The soldiers are escorting a wheelhouse." Jon relaxed and willed the raven to fly closer. There were several men sitting - an older man with a red cloak over his mailed shirt, a thin black haired man with a stubble of a beard, and a shy skinny boy with thin hair. Jon's eyes were drawn to the dwarf with stubby legs, a jutting forehead, and mismatched eyes - green and black. Some strands were so blond to be almost white but in the dusk, the hair looked blond and brown. The dwarf stared at the castle with an intense, uncomfortable gaze.

"Tyrion Lannister. He is Tywin's representative." Jon said.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Parabellum is more than the third John Wick movie. The actual Latin phrase is _Si vis pacem, para bellum_ \- If you want peace, prepare for war, but it is not clear which Roman said that. It is also the motto of a German gun company, which makes the Luger Parabellum.

The story of Aerea Targaryen comes from **Blood and Fire**. It is a sad story but that is the general trend in **Blood and Fire**. The _Sun Chaser_ is the ship that Elissa Farman built to sail south and west. As far as I can tell, it is based on Ferdinand Magellan's flagship, the _Trinidad_. By 1300 AD, compasses were used in Europe. It is not clear whether they were invented on their own or borrowed from the Chinese who knew how to make magnetic iron needles by 200 AD. The Chinese used the compass for divination first, and not for navigation until 1100 AD. I assume it wasn't accurate enough. The _Sea Snake_ is both Corlys Velayron's nickname and his flagship. He sailed as far as Yi Ti, and is an interesting figure. (but he didn't have dragons, so he was out of luck.)

Lady Maege Mormont's armor is half plate. What she is missing is armor on her legs, although the tassets protect her upper thighs and hips. When properly fitted, you can move reasonably well in plate because the weight is well distributed. One major advantage of plate over chain is that any force is absorbed over a greater surface area, thus reducing the power of blows. Jon's plate mail also makes them immune to everything but lucky missile shots. The Y shaped and T shaped helmet gives good protection too, although of course the eyes are exposed. The Mormonts and Robb's guard have steel shields now, but Jon is still in the process of ramping up the production from the furnace.

The puppet show is a nod to the **Mystery Knight** where Ser Duncan the Tall saves Tanselle, a tall Dornish girl, from Aerion, a rather nasty prince as bad as Joffrey. Anselle is named after her great grandmother. The puppet story is obviously hyperbole but Jon's reputation is taking a hit from the prison ransoms. Jailers are not popular figures in songs. The Young Wolf remains the bold hero to the masses. Robb was always a more dashing leader than Jon, until his bad strategic decisions began to catch up.


	13. Lions and Wolves

**Lions and Wolves**

"You do understand how guest right works, Lannister?" Robb Stark asked impatiently.

Robb had decreed that for the length of the tourney, only one gate would be used for visitors to enter and exit Riverrun. Supplies, wagons of ale and servants bringing in steers and lambs to be slaughtered, still moved under watchful eyes on boats through the Water Gate on the North and the Southern bridge over the Red Fork, but the visitors were allowed only through the West Gate. A large crowd of smallfolk and nobles watched the commotion that morning, as the bridge was jammed full. Dozens of lords and knights had petitioned to enter Riverrun, including Tyrion Lannister and other Westermen. On the castle side, Robb stood with Jon at his side, supported by his Honor Guard, the Blackfish and Edmure Tully. Robb's sword remained sheathed but Northern soldiers ringed the castle walls, with arrows nocked and spears ready.

"But why should I swear guest right to you, boy? This is the Tully castle." Tyrion said. He was playing for time, and the Imp and his companions, except for the squire, all wore mail and fingered swords. The Lannister captain and Tyrion's sworn sword stood next to him, in front of other Westermen and men from the Reach and the Iron Islands.

"You are here to negotiate with House Stark. Their armies broke the siege and captured the prisoners. So Lord Stark will be your host while you are here." The Blackfish said, his tone making it clear that he would prefer a very short stay for the Imp.

"Lord Robb is also Hoster Tully's grandson. House Stark has joined House Tully in sponsoring this tourney to celebrate my father's life." Edmure added.

"Ah, yes. The great Hoster Tully. We are so lucky to honor his great achievements. Very well." Tyrion drawled.

Servants came forward with the plate of salt and bread. Tyrion took off his steel gauntlets, and as he nibbled the bread, his squire loosened the breastplate and began to unbuckle the gilded steel armor. Tyrion sighed with relief as he discarded the vambraces and spaulders. The castle steward handed out more plates of food, and Jon kept his eyes out to make sure everyone took a bite of bread.

"Any who wish to enter the Riverrun must disarm. So long as you do not attack my men or anyone in the castle, you will not be attacked, and I will protect you from harm. This I swear on honor of my House before the old gods and the new." Robb said.

The pug nosed yellow haired knight standing five feet from Tyrion grunted, but handed his helm and hand and a half sword with a lion for a pommel over to a squire. He began to shuck off his gilded ringmail and the other Westermen followed his lead. Men started to divest their shields and swords. That morning, the knights from the Reach wore well fitted mail hauberks with three quarter length sleeves, reaching down to the mid thighs. Chain was cheaper than plate but a quality mail shirt was expensive, both in the amount of iron wire and the skill required. It was certainly more costly than the scavenged mishmash that the Iron Born wore for protection. The squids did not sow but they also did not smith. The Vikings had iron but not steel. That explained why the ironborn had been losing wars since Harren Black was roasted alive. The one exception to that wore plate under his black and silver cloak. He also refused to give up his sword.

"I will not relinquish my family blade." The black haired man speaker was tall, with strong arms and a long austere face. The sword was sheathed but Jon could see the moonstone pommel and the elaborate guard, like sea creatures twisted about on golden waves.

"You cannot have a weapon in Riverrun." Robb said.

"Nightfall is my ancestral sword. My Lord cousin gave it to me when I was knighted and the blade has never left my sight, not when I sail or sleep." the man said.

Jon had never seen a Valyrian sword besides the greatsword Ice. Archmaester Thurgood claimed there were 227 Valyrian steel blades left in Westeros but the man must have been senile when he wrote those words. Jon knew of less than twenty such blades, and half of those had been long lost like Blackfyre and Dark Sister.

"Nightfall should belong to House Greyjoy. Dalton Greyjoy claimed the sword first." Theon said.

"And your house lost it, Nephew, when the Red Kraken died." the man replied.

"Your name?" Robb asked.

"Ser Harras Harlaw of Grey Garden and the Ten Towers." he said.

"How is an ironborn cunt a knight?" the Greatjon asked. The Iron Islands were not exactly known for chivalry or anything besides reaving and raping.

Harras Harlaw stared hard at Lord Umber before responding. "I was sent to squire with my mother's family, House Serrett. I was knighted after winning a tournament."

There were knights and then there were** knights**. Many second and third sons of nobility were awarded their spurs due to favors, coin, or not so hidden threats. Ser Ryman Frey and his Frey brothers were proof of that. But winning knighthood in a battle - that was an entirely different matter. Barristan Selmy had won his knighthood by unhorsing Duncan the Tall in a joust. Brynden Tully had been knighted for his courage in the War of the NinePenny Kings. Jaime Lannister had been knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne for facing the Smiling Knight. The Knight of Grey Garden clearly belonged to the latter group, and armed with a Valyrian blade, would be a deadly opponent in any melee.

"May we see the blade?" Jon asked.

Ser Harras nodded and drew Nightfall out of the leather scabbard decorated with scythes and peacocks. The steel was dark and smoky, with a rippled pattern like tear drops of flowing water. Nightfall was a longsword, not a greatsword like Ice, but it was a fine weapon, and attracted many admiring glances.

"I can see why you would wish to keep such a treasure." Robb said. "But…"

"Ser Harras, do you follow the Seven? I thought Balon Greyjoy had banned the Faith in the Iron Islands." Jon said.

"He did but before that, my cousin Lord Harlaw had septons at Ten Towers to care for his books, and my mother worshipped the Seven. I took my vows anointed with the seven oils, and stood vigil at a sept." Harras said.

"Would you swear on the gods that you follow that you will not use the weapon in the castle, except in self defense?" Jon said.

"Aye, Lord Stark, I will swear that on the Faith of the Seven and the houses of both my father and mother that I will honor guest right." Ser Harras said. "I will not wear armor, nor strike any man who does not attack me."

"Then I accept, Ser Harras." Robb said.

The burly Lannister man with a big square chin looked displeased at the exchange. "When can we see the prisoners?"

"And you are?" Robb asked.

Tyrion Lannister stepped forward. "Lord Stark, allow me to introduce my companions..."

"I am not your bloody companion, Tyrion. I came from the West. Ser Daven Lannister, and I am here with my Marbrand and Lefford cousins to see the prisoners." the big blond man said.

"You are here for the squires." Jon realized.

"Aye, the Westerlords want to make certain they return safe. My cousin, Jaime, says they are not harmed. I hope for your sake that is true." Daven said in a belligerent tone, glaring at Jon with bright hazel eyes.

"Save your threats for someone who cares. The squires are guarded in the North gate house. They will be released to you once we receive the ransoms. The other prisoners are in the dungeons, except of course your uncles, and cousins." Jon said.

"And now for my companions." Tyrion said breezily, as if he had not been interrupted. "This is my squire, Podrick of House Payne. This is the captain of the guards, Vylarr of House Broome. These loyal men are leal servants of House Lannister." Like a showman, he extended his right hand to a large company of well armed red cloaks, more than eighty in number, and perhaps as many as a hundred. The gesture was oddly reminiscent of the Dornish ringmaster. "And this is Bronn, of House…."

"You wouldn't know the house my lord. A shit hole in a village." The black haired man said. His sword was ugly, but Jon had no doubt that Tyrion's sworn shield could use the weapon well.

"We would like to introduce ourselves as well." A lumpy nosed man with messy orange hair and a sigil of a horn of plenty spilling out grapes, apples, onions and turnips. Jon thought perhaps unfairly, that this might be the Knight of Fruits and Vegetables. "I am Ser Owen Merryweather. This is Ser Robert and Ser Androw Ashford. And these are the Fossoways, Ser Bryan, Ser Edwyd, and..."

"Maester Snow, it is good to see you." Owen Fossoway beamed, a broad smile on his square face and pug nose. He wore a brown tunic with a red doublet, belted high up on his waist. His simple clothes stood out among the finely dressed knights, but his cheer was genuine compared to the other Reachmen.

"Owen, what are you doing here? Why are you not at the Citadel?" Jon asked.

"Lord Fossoway thought it would be good for me to return to Cider Hall. I have also bought our steward, Arslan, with me on my travels." Owen said. A handsome brown haired man in his twenties smiled and bowed slightly. He was quite young for a position of such responsibility.

Ser Harras cleared his throat. "My men are Harlaws."

"You are welcome, Sers. Tomorrow night, the tourney will start with a feast. You may visit the castle and I offer you meat and drink. I promise you fair treatment and hospitality on my honor as a Stark." Robb said, and the Northmen parted to allow entrance into the castle. Tyrion, followed by Bronn, Podrick Payne, and Vylarr with a dozen Lannister guards, stepped forward over the bridge.

* * *

The visitors staggered at the heat radiating from the blast furnace. Hot flames, yellow orange with streaks of white, billowed out from the top of the twenty feet tall structure. The bricks glowed with a hellish light, and a crew of boys and girls rushed about, taking finished ingots in stock to be hammered out by trip hammers or polished with stones. Mormont warriors were being measured and dressed as they tried on the steel breastplates, helmets and gauntlets.

"What in the Seven Hells is that?" asked a gaping Daven Lannister sweat beading on face.

"Is that a furnace? But how can it be so tall?" Tyrion said.

"Jon, you have figured out the riddle of steel, just like you told the Conclave." Owen approached more closely, and pointed out to the steward and other Southern knights the water wheel and how it was connected to the hammers and the bellows.

"Yes, it is a blast furnace and it produces molten steel. Archmaester Norren was wrong. You do not need a higher temperature, you need more air." Jon said, waving to the hardworking crew. Chett and Clydas barely looked up, so intent on keeping the production line humming.

"And when did you build this, Maester?" Harras Harlaw said respectfully.

"We finished the furnace eight days ago. We have been producing steel plate since." Jon said.

"Maester Snow will give a suit of armor to the victor of the joust and the melee." Edmund Tully said.

"A suit of armor? Not much of a prize. I suppose House Tully can only afford weapons and fish." Tyrion japed.

"You have not seen the armor, Lannister. And mayhap, it is not gilded with gold leaf or decorated with little cats on the shoulders. But I can assure that it can block arrows and swords as well as anything from Casterly Rock." The Blackfish said.

"I doubt that. My father has hired master armorers from as far as Qohor. Their skill and craftsmanship is unparalleled in the Seven Kingdoms. They know the mysteries of reforging Valyrian steel. They do not forge armor; they make works of art."

"We have seen how well those works of art stand up in fighting. They didn't help your men the last three times." Robb said.

"Three battles do not make a war." Tyrion said.

"No, but three victories are better than three defeats." Robb replied.

"I would like to see my brother, Jaime, but I would also like to meet with your advisers, perhaps over a meal." Tyrion said.

"My advisors? Why would you need to meet with them, Lannister?" Robb said.

"You are the Young Wolf. Surely, you heed the counsel of older and wiser men. After all, you may know how to swing a sword and blow a warhorn, but there is much more to war than that." Tyrion said with a smile.

"I negotiate for the North. As Heir to Winterfell, I speak for my father, the Lord Paramount." Robb said with clenched teeth.

"I am not certain the Starks will be Lord Paramounts for long. After all, treason is a serious offense." A low rumble of anger went through the Northmen. "And besides, I am here representing the Iron Throne. The message of the Iron Throne should be heard by your bannermen." Tyrion said.

"You represent Joffrey Hill, a bastard born of incest." Robb snapped.

"Your only proof is an accusation from Stannis Baratheon, hardly a trustworthy source. Joffrey sits on the Throne. And I am sure the Lords of the North would like to hear what the Crown is offering to House Stark. After all, you owe your authority to your Lords." Tyrion said.

"The Lord of Winterfell rules the North. Our lords are sworn by oath to Robb as Heir. By what authority do you have to speak for the Crown?" Jon said.

"My father, Tywin Lannister, is the Hand of the King and the father of the Queen Dowager. King Joffrey will follow his counsel." Tyrion said.

"Joffrey Hill may submit to Tywin, but not to you. Robb speaks for our House. But you have no authority to negotiate, do you?" Jon said.

"My father will listen to my words." Tyrion said.

"Will he? I spoke to your bannermen. They say that Tywin wanted to drown you at birth. And that if he could trade your head for Jaime, he would do it without thinking." Jon said.

"That may be true, but I am here as his representative." Tyrion said.

"You are here as a messenger boy. You will take our demands and bring them back to Tywin. He will accept or reject our proposals, not you." Jon said.

'Lannister - you may speak at lunch, and then we will discuss our terms in private, so you can bring them back to your father." Robb said.

"I thank you for the kindness." Tyrion bowed mockingly.

* * *

Robb waited until the solar door was closed before turning his fuming face around to face his brother. "That little shit. Who does he think he is to mock me? To claim I am a green boy who needs to run to my Lords for their approval."

"Tyrion Lannister is trying to get under your skin. He wants to make you angry." Jon said.

"Well, he is succeeding." Robb snapped.

"He is a clever man, but besides snide comments, what can he do? In fact, I am puzzled why he is here at all." Jon said.

"What do you mean?" Robb asked.

"Tywin Lannister will be the one to approve any exchange. He does not wish to come to the castle but he only needs a messenger. Why send his son with a hundred guards?" Jon said.

"The Lannisters are proud. The father wishes to appear strong, even if he has lost battles." Robb guessed.

"Strength comes from victories, not the size of your forces. Otherwise, the Reach would the most respected realm. And as for the Reach and the Ironborn, I am puzzled at why they are here, as well." Jon said.

"You don't think the Harlaws or the Merryweathers and Fossoways are here for a tourney?"

"You may admire Hoster Tully as your grandfather, but why would an Ironborn or a Reachman care? Owen Fossoway is a good man, and as a friend to share a mug of ale or cider, there is none better. But he is not a war-hound. He should be at the Citadel. And why is his steward here? In the Reach, the stewards oversee castle and farms, not tourneys and arms." Jon said.

"I wonder too about this Harlaw Knight. Do you think he is carrying a message for Theon?" Robb asked.

"Possibly, although if so, that would be foolish. If I were an ironborn trying to contact Greyjoy, I would just bribe a whore. Walking through a castle as the only ironborn knight attracts attention. Surely this Harras Harlaw has other motives, else he is a dunce." Jon said.

"You are suspicious of everyone, Jon. I am surprised you do not wonder about me." Robb joked.

"Perhaps I do. I may have spies watching you." Jon japed in return. "Well, the Lannisters will reveal their intentions soon enough. As for Harlaw, and the Reach, I will find out more."

* * *

Jon left the solar and went back to the yard. Outside, under the interested eyes of visitors and smallfolk, his crew, dripping in sweat from the heat, worked on steel shields and breastplates to outfit the Mormonts. The three Fossoways were there with their steward, peering with interest at the furnace. Other soldiers watched, including some who sparred with the armored bears. Helpful servants from Riverrun bought fresh jugs of water to the workers and the fighters.

Jon was particularly proud about the shields. Most Northmen used large wooden shields, wide at the top and tapered at the bottom, with an iron rim. The shields would be large enough to protect the neck of the horse and the thighs of a rider when fighting from a mounted stance. For some of these shields, Jon ordered strips of steel to make stronger rims and reinforce bands on the back. But a kite shield would be too heavy if made out of pure steel. And just as importantly, steel plate was strong enough to take the brunt of the defensive work. Jon had designed a smaller shield, heart shaped and less elongated. Such a shield was vulnerable to massed archers but there were few companies like the Raven's Teeth left. For hand to hand combat though, the new design, with the twin advantages of speed and sturdiness, would be a surprise to opponents in battle.

"Oi, Snow." Jon could not tell whether the speaker was Lyra or Jory. Both lady warriors wore a bascinet, an open faced helmet with a slightly pointed top, to deflect the force of any attack. They had attached a visor, hinged at the center of the helmet, that stuck out into the point of a muzzle with holes. The Mormont girls wanted to look like the sigils of their house but Jon thought the helmet was bird like, a steel raven ready for battle. Chett and Clydas had made a clever design. The extended face guard deflected attacks and made it easier to breathe and could be taken off if arrows were not a threat.

Lyra had raised her visor and grinned. "Thanks for the mace!" Maege Mormont and her girls had carried wooden maces, a thick club with the head reinforced with metal studs and nails. Jon had forged the four ladies new weapons. The wooden shaft remained, but the all steel head had six flanges with three spikes each. At the top, there was a sharp steel spike, that could be pushed like a spear point through a head or a chest. The mace looked like a holy water sprinkler, but the Mormonts would offer a very different blessing than a fat septon. Any man who underestimated the She Bears might not live to regret it.

Jon beckoned the crew to come over. Jon had given his lieutenants full responsibility to hire as many workers as needed and the operations had been greatly expanded. There were dozens and dozens of new faces, looking around with uncertainty. In a time of war, few smallfolk could have expected a steady job, plentiful wages, and a place of safety in the castle. They were anxious that their good fortunes not turn for the worse.

"The tournament begins tomorrow. You have done an excellent job, and produced many sets of armor and weapons. I know many of you have only worked for me the past week, but I am pleased with your labor. It would please me greatly for all of you to enjoy the tourney. So after this last batch, I would release you to attend the games, and to walk the grounds." Jon said.

"Milord, can we return to your service afterwards?" a young girl asked.

"You will not leave my service. I will pay you ten stags a day, even for the next few days. We have produced more plate mail than I expected, and there will be a great deal of work after the tourney. For now, I wish you to watch the jousts, jugglers, and the melee." Jon said. His steward Satin had already bought a sack of clinking coins, ready to hand out stags.

"I heard there is a puppet show that..." Gerry said.

"Ah yes, I am now White Fang, the bastard beast of the North." Jon chuckled. "Words are wind. Satin, give everyone a few extra coppers. You should all go see the puppets. The Dornish are famous for these shows and this one is well done.

"Milord, is there anything else for us to do?" Satin asked.

Jon thought briefly about asking them to watch the many visitors. Gerry was quick, and it would be easy for a smart perceptive boy to spy on visiting knights. But his workers were young, and they were not yet men or women grown. Putting them in danger would not be right. "Aye. I wish for all of you to be careful. A tourney may attract thieves and cutpurses. Make sure you are safe. You are all valuable, and I wish you to return unharmed in a few days' time."

"Milord, what more can we do today?" another girl asked.

"Finish this batch of steel. Pour out the ingots, and finish armor or weapons you are working on. And then in the afternoon, feel free to leave. Enjoy the puppets." Jon smiled.

* * *

Jon was sitting in a room near the dungeons when a man pushed past his guards. He looked up from the stack of signed notes to the long face of the dark haired Ironborn. Ser Harras Harlaw held his hands in front, showing that he held no weapon.

"They say you are in charge of the prisoners." the Ironborn said.

"Aye, Jon Snow. What can I help you with?" Jon said.

"I wish to pay the ransom for several of your captives." Harras said.

"But… of course, House Serrett. You wish to free men from your mother's house. But I sent the note to Silver Hall, and you came from the North. You do not even know which prisoners I hold."

The knight gave a grim smile. "I don't. But I would be pleased to pay your price."

Jon touched the tips of his fingers together. "Why?"

"House Serrett has always looked down on me. Lord Serrett loves my mother, who is his sister but my cousins consider me half a bastard and base born. Word has spread to the islands about the Battles in the Riverlands. I want them to know my mother's relatives to know that it was her son who saved Serrett lives." Harras said.

"How did your parents meet? An ironborn and a lady of a Westerland house?" Jon asked. "My mother was captured in a raid. Another Ironborn was about to rape her, but my father stabbed him through the back." he said.

"And then they fell in love?" Jon asked perplexed.

"What? No. In the confusion, my mother managed to escape by kniving a man. Her brothers rescued her but no one would consider her hand in marriage. She was ruined and her father wanted to send her to the Silent Sisters. Many moons later, my father came to Silver Hill and offered to marry her as his iron wife. He had not forgotten the little lady who could kill a man and swim for shore." Harras said drily.

Jon wondered if that story was considered the height of romance by the Ironborn. "I hold a Ser Harwyn and Ser Harlan Serrett as prisoners. There are also eight men at arms."

"I have a thousand gold dragons, Maester." Harras said.

"I would take 250 for each knight, and 50 more per men at arm. But they will need to swear an oath to not attack the Northern army or the Riverlands again." Jon said.

"Harwyn and Harlan are annoying little shits. They will not like that I am the one freeing them, and refuse to swear an oath. House Serrett is a proud house." Harras said.

No one would ever think a preening peacock was humble. "I do not care what they like. The thousand dragons are worth more to me than two knights." Jon said.

They waited for the guards to drag the Serretts out of the dungeon. The knight of Grey Garden was a man of few words, so Jon broke the silence. "Are you here for Theon Greyjoy as well? He is still a ward of House Stark and we would not take kindly if you took him away."

The knight drummed his fingers on the table. "Is Theon a wolf or a kraken?"

"He has always been proud to be the Prince of the Iron Islands." Jon said.

"The Ironborn have no princes, only captains and a Lord Reaver. Every man is king on his ship." Harras said. "If Theon is a kraken, then he can free himself to return to the sea. If he is a wolf, then he would not be welcome at Pyke. Only force is valued among the Iron Islands. We are strong men who do not follow the laws of the green lands."

"But those green lands rule the Ironborn. Every time the krakens rise up, they have lost. Dalton Greyjoy. Dagon Greyjoy. Balon Greyjoy. All three have been crushed." Jon said.

The Ironborn knight gave a rueful smile. "The IronBorn are strong, but not smart. My cousin, Rodrik Harlaw, says there must be a better way, but the Greyjoys have not found one. The Lord of Pyke wishes to follow the Old Ways, of salt, blood and iron."

The room opened and two dark blond haired prisoners were thrust in with swords at their backs. They looked and smelled like shit but Jon was glad that Hallis had forced the Serretts to wash. The bruises on their faces were fresh but whether that was from the guards or squabbles in the dungeon, Jon did not know or care.

"Harwyn and Harlan. I am here to pay your ransom." The Ironborn smirked.

"Before you are freed, you and your men must swear an oath to not attack the North and the Riverlands. I will have your names on this parchment." Jon said.

"Never, you bastard." The older Serrett cried. "The Old Lion will destroy House Stark, and we will be avenged. Even if we die in these miserable dungeons, the singers will know that House Serrett has no rival."

Like many knights, the Serretts had more pride than sense. After all, they were peacocks. "Very well. Ser Harras wished to pay the ransom so the Serretts would know that he was their saviour. Instead, I will give you and your men to the Ironborn as thralls. You can work in the fields and mines of the Iron Islands, and eat salted fish for the rest of your lives, however long they will be. I am sure House Harlaw will be pleased to have Serretts serving them." Jon said.

"You would sell us into slavery? Have you no honor?" the younger Serrett said.

"A thrall is not a slave. Your children can become ironborn, that is - if you ever have any. And if a free man kills you, he will have to pay weregild." Harras said. "I will enjoy visiting Silver Hill and telling your sisters and your wives to visit you in Harlaw."

The line between a thrall, a slave and a smallfolk was blurry. Slaves, at least, would get fed and housed. Some lords could care less whether their smallfolk starved. Even in the North, there were lands where the life of a peasant was nasty, brutish and short. The two Serretts turned from outrage to resignation. "We will make the oaths." The old man said bitterly.

"All of you, including the men at arms. And you had best behave. If you should attack a Northmen or a Riverlander, you will be imprisoned again." Jon said.

* * *

Jon waited with Maege Mormont for the Lannister men to finish speaking with Ser Jaime and the other captives that morning. Jon relied on Mormont guards, fierce and loyal men and women, to patrol the Maidenvault. The Lady She Bear wondered aloud whether it was a good idea to allow Tyrion and Daven Lannister to visit alone, with guards posted outside the door. The dwarf had bought his entourage, the squire, the sworn sword, the captain of the guards and ten red cloaks. Ser Daven had come alone.

"No doubt they are plotting against us." Maege said. She wore her steel breastplate and carried the newly forged war mace.

"Of course they are. But there are two dozen guards on the bottom floor. And three more on each floor of the keep. We have watchers outside the keep as well. All the guards are armed and the Lannister men are not." Jon said.

"I will be more comfortable when these Lannisters leave. They say the Imp is a devilish creature, full of cunning and tricks." Maege said.

"They say that about me as well." Jon said.

The She-bear chuckled. "Yes, but you are on our side."

"If you are worried, I will have Ghost patrol with your daughters at the keep. I promised Robb to safeguard the prisoners and I will not break my word." Jon said.

"I do not like the Imp's looks. He has a smirk on his face, like he knows something that we do not. He may think he is clever but he trades in deceit." Lady Mormont said.

The Imp was clever, Jon thought, but the constant smirking was a bit much. And a man could be deceitful without looking to the part. But more to the point, what was Tyrion's game?

* * *

For once, fish was not on the menu. The Tullys served roast of lamb with savory garlic and goat cheese. The main dish was accompanied by a turnip green and red fennel salad and a creamy chestnut soup. Even the Reachmen admired the sweet chestnuts, roasted over a fire and then cooked with vegetables in butter. Wine spiced with cloves and cinnamon and ale in horns were served to the lords and knights who had heard gossip of Tyrion Lannister's words that morning. That would be almost all of them, Jon thought, as he looked around the crowded great hall.

At the head table, overlooking the hall, Robb stood proud, next to Ser Brynden and Ser Edmure. Lady Stark had commandeered the final seat, on the argument that she was both a Tully and Stark, and would balance the two. Jon sat at the second table, with the Lords of the North. The Greatjon, Lady Mormont and the Manderlys had insisted and Jon agreed, despite reservations from other Lords. Tyrion and Daven sat at the third table, with their guards further away.

The lamb was nearly finished when Tyrion Lannister stood up to speak. He was a small man but as he walked to the head table, Riverrun guards went to intercept him, before Robb waived him off. The hall went silent, waiting for his words. He did not disappoint.

"My Lords, I have come to ask you to bend the knee." Tyrion said. "Do so now, and the Iron Throne will grant you mercy."

Nervous laughter broke out in the crowd. "We are winning, Lannister." Robb said.

"For now, yes. You have won a few victories, but my father still has his host, thirty thousand strong. We have men at King's Landing, and King Joffrey can raise larger hosts, We have the Royal Fleet and the ships at Lannisport. The North is but one kingdom. It will lose when faced with the might of the others." Tyrion said.

"What others? The Crownlands and the Stormlands do not follow you. The Baratheons claim that Joffrey is pure Lannister." Robb said.

"Men are always willing to believe what they wish. For now, they believe these lies about my dear nephew. But when Stannis is beaten, they will rush to pledge their loyalty to Joffrey Baratheon. This is how men have always behaved." Tyrion said. "How many rebellions have every succeeded against the Iron Throne? Only one in three hundred years."

"Yes, but that was the last one, and fought by the Starks" Ser Brynden said.

"But the Starks had allies then. The North had the Riverlands, the Vale, and the stormlands. Now what do you have? My father's host controls most of the Riverlands. The Vale is silent. The stormlands are split between two Baratheons." Tyrion said.

"Even alone, we defeated your armies." Robb said doggedly.

"You have brave fighters in the North, that is true. But you only faced part of the Lannister host. The Westerlands are the richest lands in the Seven Kingdoms. We have the best armor and many knights. We have the wealth to hire companies of sellswords. And the Iron Throne can find more allies. With marriages and appointments, other kingdoms will pledge their fealty. You are but one region of the Seven Kingdoms. A single land can be crushed by the throne. Heed the advice of those wiser than you. Bend the knee before you lose your heads. Bend the knee to save your lives." Tyrion said.

"Pretty words, Lannister but you took Ned prisoner. We want him back as Warden of the North." The Greatjon said.

"And we will return him. But he will have to take the Black." Tyrion replied.

"No, my father did nothing wrong. He is a man of honor and would not commit treason. You will return him unharmed, and he will remain Lord of Winterfell." Robb said.

Tyrion appeared stricken with sadness and Jon wondered how much of this was a mummer's show. The dwarf knew that Robb would never allow their Lord Father to be branded a traitor. "Then I truly am sorry. Because with the wealth of Casterly Rock and the might of the Iron Throne, the rebellion will fail."

Jon stood up. "Did Lord Tywin send you to tell us how much you care for the North? And how the Lannisters wish to spare us any harm?"

"If you are wise, you will bend the knee before my father takes your heads." Tyrion said.

"In this life, nothing is certain except that winter comes. We may lose our heads, it is true…. But what if we prevail? What then?" Jon spoke to a suddenly quiet room.

"My brother speaks the truth. We have won three battles - at the Whispering Woods, at Riverrun, and at the Broken Bridge. Three more, and we will see how well Joffrey Hill can hold the Iron Throne." Robb said. "You have spoken to my Lords in public. Now, we will speak in private."

* * *

It was the Rivermen who were most concerned about the meeting. They crowded Robb in his solar pleading to be heard, even as Ser Brynden attempted to clear the room.

"Lord Stark, if you return to the North, then our lands will be burnt and pillaged again." a dejected Lyman Darry said. The nine year old tried to stay strong but was on the verge of tears.

"Lord Stark, without your soldiers, the lions will devour us, and rape and kill our people. We have already seen their actions, and they will want revenge for your victories." Morva Blackwood said grimly.

Lady Whent only sobbed while Ravella Smallwood and Barbara Bracken supported her. The sense of doom in the air was strong, as if the tyranny of the Lannisters supported by the crown was inevitable, if any negotiation resulted in the wolf's retreat.

"My Lords and Ladies, I understand your concerns. The Northern armies came to rescue my father, Lord Stark. But we will not forget the Riverlands. My father's last action as Hand was to order the Mountain's capture. We will bring the guilty to justice." Robb said.

Jon waited until the grumbles of the Rivermen receded in the distance before turning to his brother. "Bring the guilty to justice? Tywin Lannister is guilty of these crimes, and you are not likely to capture him, unless you bring down the Iron Throne." Jon said.

"I know. But what else can I say? That we will allow the guilty to run free?" Robb said.

"We should not say empty words or make promises we cannot keep." Jon said.

"Where is Tyrion Lannister? Why does the Imp take so long to come to a meeting?" Robb said.

"He visits his brother often. The guards say he spends much time with Jaime alone." Jon said.

"At Winterfell, he did the same. His sister despises him, but the Kingslayer, his niece and nephew like him." Robb said.

"He gets along well with Joffrey?" Jon asked

"No one likes Joffrey. He is a total shit, except with the Queen." Robb said.

* * *

Lady Stark entered the solar with her uncle Brynden. Behind them, a smirking Tyrion Lannister stood, with Bronn and Podrick Payne. Jon realized then the nature of Tywin's younger son. He may have been a dwarf, but he had his pride. That was why he was so sharp of tongue - he had a great desire to show his wit. Tyrion may have been clever, but the pride in his intellect could prove to be a weakness.

"My Lords, I would hope that my brother Jaime could also attend these talks. Seeing as he is your greatest prize." Tyrion said. He spoke loudly, so everyone in the hall heard his words.

Robb ignored the Imp. "Mother, Ser Brynden, do you plan to attend the talks?"

"I do not wish to presume, Lord Stark, but if you ask for my advice." The Blackfish said.

Robb exchanged a quick look of understanding with his brother before he answered. "Ser, you are most welcome. Sit by my brother's side while my mother sits next to mine." The Heir to Winterfell ignored Lady Stark's grimace. "Lord Tyrion, let us begin."

"What of my request? That Ser Jaime join us in these talks." Tyrion said.

"Tell me, if this was King's Landing and we were speaking with the Throne, would our lord father be allowed to attend, or would he be stuck in the Black Cells?" Jon asked.

Tyrion blanched a bit and then recovered. "I cannot say what King Joffrey would do." Even a green boy could see that he was lying. The dwarf waddled in and sat down, flanked by Bronn and his squire Podrick Payne. Jon was surprised that Ser Daven had not come.

"Then the Kingslayer can stay in the keep as our guest." Robb said.

"Will you allow my men to see him and to bring news of the West and our talks." Tyrion asked.

"If they are unarmed, and mean no harm, then yes." Robb said with some asperity. "Enough delay. We wish to negotiate. We offer your brother, Ser Jaime, and your uncle, Ser Kevan."

"My father wants assurances of peace in the Riverlands." Tyrion said. The Starks and the Tullys raised their eyebrows at the brazen disregard for the Lannister aggression. "Tywin Lannister broke that peace. Lord Stark and our sisters will be returned to us, our guards and men in King's Landing released, the Stark ancestral sword Ice handed back. These are our terms and the Lannister army will withdraw, and commit no more violence against the Rivermen." Robb said.

"I am afraid some of that will be impossible. The Stark men and women in the capital were slain. When my sister ordered their arrests, the gold cloaks were not gentle." Tyrion said.

"Men and women? The entire household?" Robb asked aghast. "Jory Cassell? Septa Mordane?" The dwarf nodded.

"You killed the septa. She was a harmless old woman." Catelyn Stark said in disgust.

"My sweet sister did. I would like to say she wanted to prevent any escape. But I think she only wanted to mount their heads on spikes outside the Red Keep. There is another thing. We do not have both of your sisters." Tyrion said.

"YOU LOST MY SISTER?" Robb yelled.

"We cannot find Lord Stark's younger daughter." Tyrion admitted.

"Oh, my sweet child." Lady Stark wailed.

"What happened to Arya? Was she attacked by your men?" Jon said with a calm he did not feel.

"I do not know. I was not at King's Landing. All we have heard is that she disappeared." Tyrion said.

"You claim to speak for the Iron Throne. Yet that Throne butchered good men and lost my sister.' Robb said.

"I understand your anger. But I was not at King's Landing, and neither were my father and my brother. We had nothing to do with this." Tyrion said.

"Your entire misbegotten family is responsible - would your bastard nephew have done this without your father's army? We will have revenge. It may take weeks or years, but if she is dead, the Lannisters will pay in blood. You will remember Arya Stark." Jon said in a cold voice.

Tyrion shrugged. "Terrible things happen in war."

"This is not a battle." Robb said. "They arrested my father, my sisters, and our household."

"As for Lord Stark, he cannot return to Winterfell. He declared the king to be a bastard. Your family will not be attainted but he must take the black." Tyrion said.

"The king is a bastard. And the North will not accept this punishment for Lord Stark. He is no traitor, just as Joffrey is no Baratheon." Robb said.

"The offer is a good one. Your father will be alive, and Lady Sansa will be return North. The Sword Ice will be given back. And there will be no bloodshed in the Riverlands. Surely, that is better than war." Tyrion said.

"Robb, perhaps we should consider this peace. At least then, Lord Stark and Sansa will be safe. With Bran hurt and Arya missing, I could not bear the loss of another child." Catelyn said.

The Blackfish spoke to his niece. "Catelyn, peace is sweet but only if it lasts. Why hammer your sword into a plow if you must reforge it again on the morrow?"

"Mother, Bran is hurt and Arya is missing because of the Lannisters. Our answer is no. Your offer is pathetic. My father must be freed and remain Lord of Winterfell." Robb insisted.

"My father will not allow that. It would..." Tyrion began.

"Then he is a fool. Lord Stark had sworn oaths to the crown. As Lord of Winterfall, Ned Stark can call the banners back. If he takes the black, then Robb will be Lord. And we will seek revenge for Lannister crimes against House Stark and the Riverlands." Jon said.

"Young boys prefer war, but old men know the costs. Peace is better than death, my Lords. Tywin offers to return your father and your sister. You are too young to play the game of thrones with their lives." Tyrion said.

Jon laughed bitterly. "You forget your history, Lannister. How old was your father when he marched on the Reynes and burnt down Tarbeck Hall with everyone inside? Eighteen or nineteen Name Days? We are not much younger than that."

"The Lannisters are not the Reynes or the Tarbecks." Tyrion retorted.

"You are lions like the Reynes. And lions can be tamed or killed." Jon said.

"Return my father as Lord of Winterfell, my sister unharmed, our sword Ice and the bones of our men and women. Only then, will we consider peace if the Lannisters leave the Riverlands." Robb said. There was not a hint of wavering in his voice. The negotiations had ended.

Jon sat alone, brooding in the solar after Robb had left with the Blackfish and his Lady Mother. He missed Arya, so fierce and willful, a skinny wild thing with torn clothes and scabby knees and elbows. Arya was a true wolf of the North - loyal, tough, fearless. He would give anything for her to return to his side, so he can muss her hair and laugh at her antics. Forget Honor - Jon would burn down the world to save her. _I will make them pay, Little Sister. All of Them._

* * *

**Author's Notes**

How good was the steel of the Vikings? They are the model for the Iron Islands, although the Vikings were sensible people who traded and ruled and didn't worship Cthulhu on a Seastone Chair. The evidence is mixed. Some articles talk about Ulfberht steel, long double edged Viking blades that might have been hammered in a similar way to Damascus steel. Then you realize two things. First, these Viking blades were not made in Scandinavia but Germany and Frankia, i.e. they imported their steel. Second, there were only 170 of these blades, which implies that they were the Valyrian steel of their age, highly coveted and prestigious. In researching steel, you need more than iron. You need charcoal and coal, to add carbon content, and the Iron Islands while rich in iron ore, cut down all their trees for longships. I think a culture as insular as the Ironborn would not be as willing to trade for swords, or serve foreign lords, which the Vikings happily did. Thus, with a few exceptions, the Iron born have inferior weapons. Of course, they did steal two Valyrian swords, which is two more than the richest province, the West!

In real life, the Vikings in Scandinavia had much less pure bog iron, harvested in peat bogs and fired in subscale bloomery smelters. These were adequate for nails, hinges, pots and pans, but would have gotten crushed if that inferior iron was used against high quality steel. Early Viking swords were made of pure iron and known to bend in battle.

Gilded armor is expensive but not because of the gold. A half ounce of gold can cover 22 square feet because gold leaf is extremely thin. A suit of armor can be approximated by 5 foot high by four foot area. That said, the labor of applying that gold would be many man hours, and presumably any armorer sought out by kings and nobles to produce gilded armor would be quite expensive. In 1514, the Holy Roman emperor paid 1200 gold coins, a massive price, for a suit of gilded plate mail for his son, Charles V, but the cost isn't in the materials but the quality of labor and the incredible detail. Google Konrad Seusenhofer.

The shield development is quite real. In the 10th century, Europeans developed kite shields which were effective in the Norman invasion of England, particularly by mounted cavalry. After plate mail got better, warriors began to use heater shields, and those are the ones known for heraldry. Then, when missile weapons got better still, they stopped using shields at all - but by then, armor was obsolete due to gunpowder.

There actually is a weapon called the holy water sprinkler. I found out when trying to figure out the difference between a morning star and a mace. Jon's upgrade of the Mormont weaponry will come into play over the next few chapters. Incidentally, the holy water sprinkler was a favorite weapon of King John of Bohemia who died at the Battle of Crecy, fighting blind. This might have been a popular legend but it is still a remarkable story, and it is funny to imagine it in the hands of the Mormont girls.

_"In this life, nothing is certain except that winter comes. We may lose our heads, it is true. But what if we prevail?_" - This is a quote from Chapter 9 of a Dance of Dragons when Ned Stark gets wrecked on the Sisters, on the way back to the North. Ned Stark tells this to Godric Borrell, and the Lord of Sweetsister allows him to go on his way. It is a great quote but more than that, it shows how easily the events could change. Had Ned been arrested and sent to King's Landing, or Aerys been bright enough to take hostages, either Rickard or Brandon, the North would not have entered the war. That one quote shows how everything could have been different.


	14. Oathbreaker

**Oathbreaker**

If Hoster Tully was well read, there was no proof in the Riverrun library. It was not just the paucity of works but the selection and condition of the books and scrolls. In his experience, books in Westeros fell into three broad categories. There were the great histories - usually the Targaryen Kings, but also of regional affairs, like **Ten Thousand Ships** and **Judgments of Three Stark Lords**. There were technical books that dealt with subjects near and dear to a maester. The Riverrun library had a number of scrolls written by Essosi bankers on money and accounting, but none on smithing or construction. The last group were adventure books, thinly disguised bodice rippers meant to titillate the reader. The most well-thumbed tome was four scrolls on the erotic adventures of a young slave girl in a Lysene pillow house. **A Caution for Young Girls,** professing to be the autobiography of a noblewoman lost to sin, was poorly written but rather engaging, as Alleras had pointed out when she lent Jon her copy. He had been most amused when after nine erotic adventures, the debauched woman became a septa in Oldtown.

Jon browsed the single book shelf to see if there were any tales on the Velaryons. The glory days of that ancient house had passed due to the defeat of the Dragons, but Jon admired the Masters for Driftmark for their bold voyages to Volantis and beyond. The Targaryens might have ruled the skies but their closest liegemen controlled the Narrow Sea, until the Dance of the Dragons weakened both houses. Jon always thought the history of Westeros would have been different if the Sea Snake had lived or either his sons had been Hand. He was glancing through a book on the second son, Alyn Oakenfist, when he heard a mocking voice.

"**Bastard Born** \- a fitting book for the Bastard of Winterfell to read." Tyrion Lannister said.

"Hello, Imp." Jon said as he continued to read. They were alone in the library that morning, except for the room where Gerry was teaching a class of smallfolk their letters.

"Does it not bother you to be called a bastard?" Tyrion asked curiously.

"Why? I am a bastard, just like Addam and Alyn Velaryon. That never stopped Addam from flying a dragon or Alyn from ruling the waves. At the Citadel, knowledge has nothing to do with lineage." Jon said.

"Brave words. But I suppose you can hide being a bastard, but I will always be seen as a dwarf." Tyrion said, sipping from a goblet of dark purple wine.

"And why should that matter to a trueborn son of Tywin Lannister?" Jon replied.

"You know how dwarves are seen - monsters not fit to live. And you know how my father treats me. They say you have a dozen informers among the prisoners." Tyrion said.

That guess was far too low. "Aye, your father despises you for a drunken whoremonger who killed his wife. Why do you still serve him then, when he wished to drown you as a babe? Why not be free of a man who hates you?" Jon said.

"You are never free of your parents, Bastard. And I serve House Lannister just as you serve House Stark. Lady Stark hates you as well." Tyrion retorted.

"Lady Stark is not my parent nor does she rule House Stark. My Lord father does, and Robb will after him. And no matter what happens, I am loyal to them and my sisters and brothers."

"Then why not agree to peace? Your father will be alive, and your sister will be safe. Your family can return to Winterfell, although Ned Stark would be on the Wall." Tyrion said.

"My sister is safe? I have two. Have you forgotten Arya Stark?" Jon put the salacious account back on the shelf. He admired the Oakenfist. "Why are you even here? You have heard my brother's terms, and that won't change. Why don't you scurry back to Tywin?"

"Why for the tourney! I welcome a chance to see the brave Northerners in action. My cousin, Ser Daven, is fighting in the lists and I am eager to bet on him." Tyrion said with great cheer.

He was lying. The words came out too quickly like Ser Jaime's attacks on the cyvasse board. Tyrion Lannister should have left last night to report to the Lannister camp a hundred miles away to the East. And yet, the dwarf had not even sent a raven after the meeting. What could Tyrion be planning? Ser Jaime was guarded behind floors of Mormonts. The loyalty of the Freys was uncertain but a letter to the Twins would serve better than speaking with Stevron or Ryman Frey at Riverrun. And the blast furnace was shut down, so no spies could determine the right mixture of limestone, charcoal and coal.

Jon turned away, to make sure that Tyrion would not detect his suspicion. Jon calmed down, his face resuming a thoughtful, brooding pose, and he gestured to the classroom. "I must leave for the tourney. Once the class is finished, I will take then all to the camp grounds."

"Ah, the famous Wintertown boys. Are they really learning how to read and write?" Tyrion asked.

"Aye, and not just the smallfolk from the North. I have lowborn boys and girls working in the crew from the Riverlands. One even fled from Oldtown." Jon said.

"I saw a young boy with blond hair and green eyes. He did not look like he was from the North or the River. He seemed quite clever but then we Westermen are." Tyrion quipped.

Jon was not certain of the connection but knew that Tysha wanted Gerry safe. "Smallfolk are not fools. They can be taught how to read, fight, and build as well as any noblemen. Better, even. I have seen high borns at the Citadel. They do not learn any better than my crew."

"But that is not the way of the world. The great houses play the game of thrones and the low born suffer in silence. They pray only for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends. Better to be happy and ignorant than miserable and learned." Tyrion said.

"Summer always ends and winter comes. These boys and girls are happy to learn. Why should common people not dream of a better life, like Ser Duncan the Tall? He rose from Flea Bottom to Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." Jon said.

"Ser Duncan is the exception that proves the rule. Aegon the V tried to grant rights and protections to the smallfolk, but my father as Hand of the King undid those laws. He said the lowborn must know their place. No doubt, he meant at his feet." Tyrion said.

Jon stared at the dwarf. "Enjoy your quips and clever words, Lannister. Aegon the Unlikely was a good man. His reforms may have failed but history will show that he was in the right. You would rather jape and take your father's coin. Better to fight and fail than to refuse to act."

"Your words sound sweet, but you don't know my father, or how dark and cruel the world truly can be. In war, many suffer, and smallfolk the most of all." Tyrion said.

"Says the man whose father ordered the ravaging of the Riverlands." Jon replied.

"Do you think the Northmen will not do the same? When your corn and bread runs out, how do you plan to feed the army? The Trident only has so much trout." Tyrion said.

"Perhaps you will be right. But at least the North did not begin by burning and looting." Jon said, walking away from the dwarf.

* * *

Jon waited outside, listening to Gerry speak about how to pair letters with sounds. The boy was a good teacher, and chose an interesting passage in **The Southern Kingdom** to read to the class. It was about Nymeria who led the ten thousand ships after the Rhoynar fled from the Dragonlords. The fleet wandered for a decade in Sothyros and the Summer Islands, suffering storms, disease and slavery, before landing at the Greenblood in Dorne. There, after marrying Mors Martell, then the lordling of a minor house, Nymeria burnt her ships at the wedding, signalling that the Rhoynar had found a new home. She would live and die in Dorne, surviving three husbands, and sending six kings to the Wall. She was a great and strong leader, and Jon hoped that Arya's dire wolf had the same toughness and fortitude.

The wooden door burst open, and dozens of boys and girls left, chattering excitedly about the tourney. The last three to leave were Chett, Satin and Gerry who gave **The Southern Kingdom** back to Jon.

"Milord. Everyone enjoyed the tale of Queen Nymeria's burning of the Rhoynar Fleet. Will you go down the tourney with us?" Gerry asked.

"Princess Nymeria. The Dornish do not have queens. Aye, it will begin soon. I am eager to see who will be matched against each other." Jon said, putting Alleras's gift away.

Gerry hesitated for a moment and then spoke up. "Milord, something strange happened last night. We were watching the puppet show with the lions and wolves when we saw a Lannister man wearing a red cloak enter the tent."

"And did the man get angry or create a scene?" Jon asked.

"That's what Chett and Satin thought would happen, Milord. But here's the thing. He just laughed, like the rest of us. He wasn't angry, or nothing." Gerry said.

"Maester Snow, I also thought something was odd. He seemed friendly with the fat Dornish man, like he knew him in the past." Satin said.

"Do you remember what the man looked like? Could you spot him in the crowd?" Jon asked.

"Milord, it was dark, and he wore a cloak. He was tall and blond, but his face was plain. There are a lot of red cloaks outside the castle." Chett said.

"I don't want to put you in danger by spying. But you were right to tell me. There are many visitors to Riverrun, and some could be dangerous. If you see anything else odd or unusual, tell me." Jon added.

* * *

The first day of the tourney was greeted by a bright morning sun, a cool breeze, and a mass of people, elbowing their way to get a better view. Jon could have sat with Robb and the Tullys, in the best seats in the viewing stand, but he chose instead to stay with the Wintertown boys. Jon had bought several sacks of foodstuffs, fried bread, bacon, hard boiled eggs, roasted corn and apples on a stick. The boys and girls gossiped about various knights as they snacked on the crude breakfast and examined the fine pavilions set up across the field.

The grandest pavilion was obvious, festooned with gold lions on a crimson background. Dozens of red cloaks wandered nearby, although they didn't seem to be on guard. Jon saw Tyrion next to his cousin, the big burly men with the large sword who had taken off his red fox fur cloak to don gilded ringmail. A few other knights stood near, one with the gold inverted pile of the Golden Tooth, and another with the sigil of an orange burning tree

A large pavilion of deep-dyed green stood ten feet to the left. There were many shields hung outside those doors. The cornucopia of the Merryweathers, the white sun and white chevron on an orange field of the Ashfords, and the red apple, and the green apple of the Fossoways. The red apple was Cider Hall while the green apple New Barrell. Owen told him that his uncle, Ser Jon Fossoway, a well-liked and amiable man, had settled the feud between the two branches. The most prominent was a polished steel shield with a golden rose on the green field. That was the rose of Highgarden, and all the houses in the Reach pledged allegiance to their Tyrell liege lord.

"Anyone you fancy a bet on?" a voice behind him said. Jon turned to the tall brown haired man with a trimmed beard.

"Arslan, right?" Jon said and the steward nodded. "Well, I would not bet on the Freys." There were easily a dozen Frey knights in the sixty four contestants of the melee, with their weaselly faces and rat-like eyes. Jon liked Perwyn and Olyvar but the other Freys had taken after the irascible Walder, in looks, personality and skill. Black Walder and Hosteen were considered fighters but the Smalljon could probably beat both of them by himself without a sweat.

"Harras Harlaw is formidable. And with Valyrian steel, he will be hard to best." Arslan said. "Maester, whether you know more about the contestants? Who are the best fighters here?"

For a steward, Arslan was keenly interested in martial matters. "The Umbers and Karstarks are skilled warriors. If Robb was fighting, I would certainly bet on him, but he can't partake. None of his men would dare strike him. I don't know much about the fighting abilities of the Rivermen."

"Marq Piper boasts a great deal but Daven Lannister beat him soundly in a melee. Karyl Vance seems quick with the blade, but they say his cousin Hugo Vance is better. I have heard Ser Brynden was a great fighter in his prime too." Arslan said wistfully.

Jon looked carefully at Arslan. The man was built powerfully, like he engaged in hard physical labor. A steward of the Fossoway lands ordered his peasants to farm. A knight who trained regularly for battle though - that person would have thick arms and calloused hands. "How long, Ser, have you been steward in Cider Hall?"

Arslan smiled awkwardly. "I am no Ser, only a steward. My father served the Fossoways as Steward before me."

"And what do you think of the new changes Owen has made to the farms?" Jon asked. He had spotted his old friend from the Citadel making his way to them.

"Oh, very smart. Owen says you showed him how to plant clover to attract honey bees. Cider Hall's apples thank you, Maester." Arslan said with a flourish.

"And what types of apples have benefited most? The Golden Pippins or the Prince Alberts?" Jon asked, smiling back.

"Errr.. The red ones." Arslan said.

"The Norfolk Biffins. And good thing too. Those apples can be dried or made into cider." Owen sat down, handing two of the three horns of nut brown ale to Jon and Arslan. The steward smiled in relief, and then toasted Owen his drink. The two Reachmen quaffed their drinks. "I am worried about the feast tonight. I have heard the Tullys only serve trout."

"Unfortunately, those tales have some truth. I have eaten more fish in the last month, than the four years at the Citadel." Jon sighed.

"Maester, the pairings for the first round are being announced. Dacey Mormont will fight first." Chett said. The tourney had jousts and archery but the main attraction was a melee that would stretch over the three days. Each round was elimination so the champion would have to win six bouts. The crowds were keenly interested in the betting, as was Jon.

"Who is Dacey matched against?" Jon asked.

"Hosteen Frey." Gerry said. The husky knight had thick brawny arms and a jutting square jaw. He was strong as a bull, and just as dim. He wielded a long sword of mediocre quality and carried a thick oak kite shield with two blue towers connected by a bridge. Hosteen's ugly face grinned, certain of an easy victory over a girl.

Jorelle and Lyra were helping their big sister put on the armor. Dacey donned the steel breastplate, tassets and greaves but her sisters were fitting her with the pieces that covered her arms, elbows, and shoulders. Her steel shield with a rampant black bear in a green field rested in the grass. No one in the crowd even noticed her formidable morning star, the newly forged holy water sprinkler.

"What odds are being offered? Jon asked. "2 to 1, Maester. The Freys are certain that Hosteen will win." Chett said.

Jon beckoned to his eager crew of boys and girls. Owen and Arslan were listening with rapt attention. "Bet everything you can on Dacey. Every silver stag and copper star. If you find a fool willing to bet gold dragons on Hosteen, I will take the bet."

"Maester. If the odds change, should we continue to bet?" Bethany asked.

"Absolutely. Dacey should be the easy favorite, not the underdog." Jon said. The crew raced into the stands to place bets.

"You seem quite confident, Maester, in the young lady." Arslan said.

"Dacey prefers to be called the She-Bear. And yes, she is quite a fighter. Plus Hosteen Frey has not seen the new armor and weapons. He wears an average quality mail shirt."

* * *

The fighters bowed to the nobles in the stands and they entered a battle ring, demarcated by chalk lines. Hosteen looked surly as ever, while Dacey waved cooly to the crowd, her bascinet still in her hands. She put on her steel helmet, attached a metal visor, and picked up the holy water sprinkler and the steel shield. The crowd gasped when they saw the full ensemble. The Mormont girls wanted to look like she-bears but Dacey looked far more like a silver praying mantis, ready to spring and kill its prey.

When the battle began, Hosteen ran forward and slashed hard with the longsword. The She-Bear dodged easily, moving lightly in the well balanced plate armor. The knight bellowed his frustration, and continued his futile attempts. Hosteen Frey was easy to anger, and he exerted all his might striking at air. Dacey had not even needed to use her shield. Then, when Hosteen slowed slightly, the She-Bear struck. She smashed the holy water sprinkler against the kite shield, the spikes tearing through the wood. The Frey knight screamed, and Dacey landed three more solid blows, the steel head of the morning star ripping large wooden chunks on the hits and backswings. With his shield arm down, Dacey rammed the steel shield into Hosteen's chin, and the loud ring was followed by a thud as the husky body dropped to the floor. Dacey placed the sharp spike of the holy water sprinkler directly over the Frey knight's face.

"Victory. Dacey Mormont." a crier announced to the stunned crowd. Jon chuckled as his crew began to collect their winnings, much of it from angry Freys. Jon had won a dozen gold dragons and a bag full of silver stars. The Mormont warriors hooted and hollered, and Dacey, the steel helmet off and her dark hair blowing in the wind, winked at Jon amidst giggles from her sisters.

The cry of merchants and peddlers rang out, as they offered wares of ale, food, brightly colored scarves to the crowd. The winning bettors spend their coin lavishly, with raucous applause for the victors. Those standing near Jon were particularly happy as the Winter Town boys had cleaned up, betting on the Northmen. Two dozen of the 32 matches had been won by the Northmen, with Harras Harlaw, Daven Lannister, and the two Fossoways also advancing. The Rivermen had done particularly poorly, with a meager four winners, and Perwyn the only Frey knight whoa advanced.

Jon's betting strategy was eagerly watched, carefully emulated but really quite simple. He bet aggressively on those wearing his armor and weapons. All three Mormont girls had won their first round, as had many members of Robb's guard. Lyra Mormont enjoyed thrashing Theon Greyjoy and denting the fancy gold guard of his longsword. Jon had no doubt the Smalljon and the Karstark brothers outclassed their opponents, but the steel breastplates and helmets certainly helped. The armor not only absorbed glancing blows but allowed the wearers to move and strike swiftly. In the second round, that betting strategy would be less relevant as the men of the honor guard would begin to be matched against each other. Jon gave instructions for Chett and Satin to bet on the second round, bade goodbye to Owen and Arslan, and walked away.

* * *

Ghost found Jon as he left the crowds of spectators. Like his master, the wolf never liked crowds. Ghost had patrolled the maidenvault last night, and his red garnet eyes continued to dart about, vigilant and tense. Without the wolf at his side, Jon had slept poorly, dreaming of a little girl lost in a hall haunted by monsters. He missed Ghost's smell and the comfort of the thick shaggy white fur. But the prisoners were more important.

Jon opened the flap, his wolf trailing behind. The puppets had been packed away, and there were only two people sitting in the tent, the fat Dornish man and his wife, eating a meal of porridge with duck eggs.

"Good Ser, the first show will be in the afternoon" The Dornish man stopped when he saw Jon. "But if you would like, we can show you the play now."

His wife curtsied. "Milord, thank you so much for telling others to see our show. We appreciate the custom." She hurried to a chest, and took out the newly painted puppet of Ghost with bushier fur, red eyes, and his jaw closed. It was an excellent likeness, but the real Ghost was quite disinterested in the wooden figurine.

Jon sat down. "I believe you two know why I am here."

The fat man cringed. "Milord, We barely know the man. I had not seen him for many years."

His wife put her hand on her husband's arm. "Garin, the White Wolf has treated us fair. Tell him."

The Dornish man agreed. "I met him a decade ago, Ser. Then he called himself Lester the Lucky. He joined our mummer's troupe in the Reach. I hadn't seen him for many years. Lester changed his name after leaving us in the Riverlands. They say he fell in with a bad crowd, robbers and highwaymen."

Cedra snorted. "He left, because we found him stealing from the till. Had he stayed, the company would have flogged him or worse. We couldn't cut his hand off because he played Florian the Fool or Ryam Redwyne in performances."

"Could he fight with a sword?" Jon asked.

"He could fight as well as any mummer which is to say not at all. He may appear skilled with a sword. But any real soldier would gut him quickly." the lady said.

"So why is he here serving Lannisters?" Jon asked.

"We don't know, Maester, I swear. We are an honest troupe of puppeteers. We merely entertain the crowds. We want nothing to do with any trickery." Garin said.

"He carried a large purse full of silver and gold. He boasted of his good fortune, but who knows how he stole that money." Cedra said, hands on her hips.

Jon thought it more likely that Tyrion Lannister provided the coin. He placed a large fistful of silver stags on the table. "Thank you for your aid. Good fortune on your show."

* * *

When Jon returned, the melee was still in the second round. The crowd had turned festive and cheered for all the combatants, regardless of house or allegiance. Even Ser Daven Lannister had been applauded when he dispatched Robin Flint, and not just by the Westermen. All around him, boys and girls made merry as if the shadow of war had faded. That was an illusion, but the lie was good for today. In another life, he might have been friends with these men, and fought with them on a quest or a tourney. But the happiness of the world was a fragile thing, easily destroyed by selfish desires, whether it be the Kingslayer or a dragon prince. And then the price was paid in tears and blood.

Jon ignored the happy mood. Hard things only grow harder if they are ignored. He looked at Tyrion Lannister slapping the back of Ser Daven, at Harras Harlaw sharpening Nightfall. He listened to the easy banter of Arslan as he laughed with Owen over the sad state of their purse. A Master of Whispers has no friends, Jon thought. Bloodraven had known that truth.

"Satin." Jon called. "Take this note, and bring it to my brother, Robb." The boy whore stood up, and rushed off to the center stands.

"Maester, who do you like for the next matches?" Arslan asked, more eagerly than he should.

"Many of the easiest matches have been fought. Ser Daven and Ser Harras defeated their opponents, and now the remaining duels are not as easy to bet." Both the Smalljon and Harrion Karstark had won, as had all three Mormont girls. "Pardon me, Sers. I would speak to Dacey."

"She is a fine fighter. I am glad none of our men fought against the She-Bears." Arslan said. Besides Theon, Dacey, Jory, and Lyra had faced Rivermen in their duels. The Mormonts had blessed them senseless with the steel morning stars.

"Owen, would you care to meet my brother Robb this morning? I have told him much about the Citadel and he would be glad to meet friends from the Reach." Jon asked.

Owen exchanged a quick glance and nod to his steward. "We would be most pleased, Jon."

* * *

They walked back to the castle, Jon at Owen's side, chatting about mutual friends, second and third sons forging links at the Citadel. Owen's cousins had acquitted themselves well today, one losing to Lord Jason Mallister in the second round and the other defeating Marq Piper, and making it to the next day. The field would be cleared for the afternoon jousts.

As they entered the hall of the main keep, Jory and Lyra Mormont moved closer, flanked by a few other members of the Honor Guard. Dacey had alerted Eddard Karstark and the Blackfish followed as well, with the captain of the guards and the master at arms besides him. Jon led Owen and Arslan to the great solar of Riverrun, where Robb waited, sword in hand.

As they neared the door, Jon spoke to the steward. "Owen says that you have had better luck than New Barrel in implementing the four course field system."

"Oh, yes, the field system. We have been planting clover everywhere. It has helped immensely." Arslan replied.

Olyvar Frey opened the door, and the Reachmen finally noticed that there were many others in the hallway. Ser Brynden was closest but Robin Ryger and Desmond Grell blocked one side while the Mormont girls sealed another. "And what type of clover did you plant near the orchards?" Jon said.

"Red, like our apples." Arslan replied.

"Red, Ser. Not crimson?" Jon asked.

Arslan glanced with concern at Owen who merely sighed. Robb Stark sat behind an oak desk, Grey Wind at his feet, and his blue eyes staring at the steward. "Sit down, Ser." Robb said, rubbing the dire wolf's head and pointing at a single chair in the middle of the room.

"Err, shouldn't Owen sit as well?" Arslan said.

"He is not a Ser or a Lord, but you are." Jon said, as the room filled with the Blackfish and the Mormonts. "You are no steward. I doubt you are even a Fossoway."

The would-be steward shrugged, a tight lipped smile on his face as he sat. He was broad of shoulder and taller than Robb or Jon. "How do you know?"

"You don't know very much about apples, but a great deal about fighting. And bees don't like red clover. The flowers are too long for them but crimson clover produces excellent honey. I recommended that variety to Owen because it makes better hay. But enough talk about clover and apples. You are important enough for House Fossoway, Ashford and Merryweather to provide an escort, and there was a shield of a golden rose on a green field hanging in the pavilion. House Tyrell. I doubt Highgarden would risk their heir, and the third son, Loras, is famed for his finery and flowers. So you must be the second son, Garlan Tyrell." Jon said.

"Owen said you were quite clever. I see he was right." Garlan said ruefully.

"Why are you here, Ser? Under false pretenses." Robb asked. The Blackfish glowered balefully by his side but Grey Wind stayed quiet and did not even snarl.

"I meant no harm. Perhaps I gave a false name, but I merely wish to observe the Northmen in battle." Garlan said. He seemed light of heart, even though Jon had heard at the Citadel that the second Tyrell was deadly serious in training with the sword.

"You are a spy. Tell us why you were sent. The truth." Jon said.

"You cannot blame Highgarden for being curious of battles near its borders. Bitterbridge is less than two hundred miles away from Riverrun and Goldengrove sits on the edge of the Westerlands. We need to keep our eyes and ears open on the North, the Riverlands, the Westermen and even the Iron Born." Garlan said.

"If that were true, House Tyrell would spend a single knight, or a lowborn spy. Instead, they sent their second son. And you pulled Owen out of the Citadel to explain apples and clover to you. You have greater reason than curiosity, Ser." Jon said.

The Tyrell knight considered for a moment and then beckoned Owen Fossoway over. The two spoke in muted voices before Garlan turned his broad handsome face to Robb. "Your brother is right and I suppose the news will come soon enough. My sister, Margaery Tyrell, will wed Renly Baratheon. Renly means to be King and my family sent me to understand what is happening in the Riverlands." the knight said.

Robb scratched his beard. "Renly cannot be king. He cannot claim the throne over Stannis."

Garlan switched from a relaxed pose to a serious one. "I see your point, but if Tyrell swords hold the Iron Throne, who will dispute his reign?"

"Stannis will. If the Lannister children are bastards, then he is the rightful heir. And he is not a man who will forget that." Robb said. "My father says that there are few men as hard and unforgiving as Stannis Baratheon."

"Who do the Stormlands serve? Stannis or Renly?" Jon asked.

"Renly holds Storm's End. Stannis has Dragonstone. The lands there are poorer, and Stannis's lords love the dragons more than any stag. The bannermen will follow Renly." Garlan said confidently.

"Unless he loses. And then they may flee back to Stannis." Robb said.

"But for now Renly's army is larger, and with the men of the Reach, would dwarf anything Stannis can raise near Dragonstone." Jon thought out loud. "But, if Stannis has few men, he is not a threat to Renly. The Lannisters are. Why does he not attack Tywin now?"

Garlan looked apologetic, and Robb exchanged a disgusted look with Jon. The two brothers did not speak, but everyone in the room could see their silent conversation.

"Lord Stark, what does this mean?" The Blackfish asked.

"Renly Baratheon and the Tyrells want to see the wolf and the lion battle in the riverlands. They will wait so they can negotiate terms with whoever wins." Robb said with distaste.

"Lord Stark, I wanted to attack the Lannisters. If the Reach helped free the riverlands, then it would be easier for them to follow Renly. But I do not have my goodbrother's ear." Garlan said.

"I do not like all this trickery. But you and your men are welcome to our hospitality. Will you still disguise yourself as a steward, Ser?" Robb said.

Garlan laughed. "In truth, I would have loved to fight in the melee but it is too late to sign up for the lists. Perhaps, if you would grant me a spar, Lord Stark." The smiling knight paused and turned serious again. "I would offer you goodwill to repay your kindness. Beware the IronBorn. They have rebuilt their fleet, and Balon Greyjoy wishes to return to the Old Way."

"But we have Theon as ward. Would he attack the North?" Robb asked.

"The Greyjoys fear death less than most. Balon had eight brothers and three are alive, and some say they are all insane. He rose against the Throne and risked the lives of his sons before. His two oldest died in the Rebellion. He is a prickly man and thirsts for revenge." Garlan said.

"How do you know this, Ser?" Jon asked.

"We have spies on Harlaw and Pyke. The squids may have escaped the notice of the Iron Throne but we know the numbers of their ships." Garlan said.

"My thanks, Ser Garlan, and I will be happy to spar, but perhaps not in the yard. Else people will wonder why I defeated a steward." Robb jested and shook hands with Ser Garlan.

"I am sorry, Jon. House Fossoway had to follow Highgarden." Owen said.

"I understand. But Owen, you are not a good spy. Who was the mastermind behind this brilliant plan?" Jon asked.

"Lady Olenna Tyrell. She would like you very much. I wrote to her after Cider Hall planted the clover. I told her that you would make a clever steward." Owen said with a smirk.

* * *

In the Great Hall, it was easy to tell who had won both rounds of the melee. Not all sixteen of the victors were there. In fact, the three Mormont girls had left to seek out Maege and to patrol the keep. But many champions sat near the high table, surrounded by admirers and basking in glory. Even those who had lost raised horns of ale and goblets of wine as toasts. Eddard and Torrhen Karstark fell in the second round to Lord Mallister and Wylis Manderly but they still cheered for their victorious brother Harrion. Ser Daven and Ser Harras sat facing each other, an oddity in the sea of Northmen. Theon sat next to Harras and Tyrion was on the other side of his cousin, holding court over the table, his squire filling his goblet, and his man Bronn by his side.

"Come Maester. Grace us with your company." Tyrion said. Jon sat down with Owen and Arslan.

It was not a full feast. There were capons, nicely crisped, and wild boar stewed with apples in a white wine sauce. There was a salad of green beans, red beets, and onions. It looked colorful, healthy, and tasteless, and was being clearly neglected in favor of the meat. Jon took out a small jar of the dark liquid, poured it over the salad, and handed it over to Owen.

Owen sniffed, and took a bite. "This is delicious, Jon. Some Northern concoction?"

"I made this recently. Vinegar but sweet and tart. It can be used on all sorts of vegetables or even eaten alone with bread and butter. You can even drink it with water' Jon said.

Arslan eagerly sampled it, marvelling at the fruity texture. "This is marvelous. It would go well with fruits and vegetables from the Reach."

"Aye, with the right grapes, I could make this in bulk. I would not be surprised if even the Essosi would be interested." Jon said to the great interest of the Reachmen.

Theon Greyjoy snorted in derision. "Fruits and vegetables. We are in the middle of war, Snow. Have you become a greengrocer? Did you waste four years at the Citadel?"

"We studied animal husbandry and agriculture, Greyjoy. There is no shame in that. Any lord will tell you that crops and livestock are as important as castles and swords." Jon said.

"War is the proper trade of a man - fire, blood and song. Battle is where men belong, where men go berserk and feel no pain." Theon declared pompously. Jon thought Greyjoy had felt plenty of pain at Lyra Mormont's morning star. As for going berserk, Theon might be confusing that with being drunk.

"There is more to life than whacking others with pointy sticks, although my brother Ser Jaime does not seem to agree." Tyrion jested.

"Maester Snow, what did you study in the Citadel?" Ser Harras asked.

"Many things, Ser. Steel, Farming. Healing. Mathematics." Jon said.

"What of navigation? Did you study how to pilot a ship?" Harras asked.

"How could any greenlander know how to steer a ship?" Theon said.

Jon ignored Theon who for the last decade had been on two less ships than Jon. "You mean the problem of longitude?"

"Aye. The Reader says that one day, it will be solved. And then the Sea Song will travel further than any ship from the Iron Islands." Harras said.

"My nuncle is crazed. No one can solve the problem of longitude." Theon laughed.

"What is this problem, Ser?" Tyrion asked.

"A ship at sea can tell the distance north or south. You can use the sun at noon or the North Star and calculate the angle of the horizon. But no one has ever figured out how to determine how far west or east." Ser Harras said.

"I see, and any ship can get lost out of sight of land. The further you sail, the more confused you will be, until a ship has no idea how far it went or where." Tyrion said.

"A proper sea men would know. You just need a sense of the waves and the winds. I am certain I could pilot any vessel in the Iron Fleet." Theon insisted.

"Greyjoy, when you are out on the water, after a storm, no one has any sense of location. Log, line and spyglass only offer a guess, and in an uncharted area, that guess is useless. And men will starve and die while you sail east or west to find a coast." Harras said.

"Aye, it is true. You can sail from White Harbour to Braavos but if you go north into the Shivering Sea or West into the Sunset Seas, or even south to the Summer Islands, you would get lost. Ships can only sail on certain routes close to the shore." Wylis added. The two Manderly brothers had come over when they heard the discussion.

"I do not see how it can be done." Wendel said wistfully. "If it could, ships from White Harbour would sail the far seas like Brandon the Shipwright."

"Aye, to explore rather than kill and raid. It seems that the gods, old and new, wish to keep us in Westeros." Ser Harras said.

"I can solve it. It would not be easy but there is a way." Jon said.

"But how Maester?" Ser Harras asked despite the doubt in the eyes of others.

"What we know is not much. What we do not know is immense." Jon said, tapping his fingers on the table. "But we can try to discover more. We live in a clockwork universe, and the stars and the moon must follow a celestial pattern. We can measure the distance and the angle between the moon and stars in the night sky, and make a number of calculations. Men would need to know how to take lunars with a sextant, and use mathematics."

"Mathematics to navigate by the stars?" a perplexed Wendel asked.

"Aye, decimals and multiplication. You would need tables for the math of triangles and exponents." Jon said.

"Perhaps you could observe the moon and the stars on land. If you know the distance, then you could test your calculations." Tyrion said.

"It will never work, Snow. Ship captains adding and subtracting sums on a piece of paper like a clerk counting coppers in a brothel. The Islands are full of men of iron and salt, not numbers." Theon japed.

"No wonder why the Ironborn lose so easily, and are so poor." Tyrion smirked.

"Maester, is this possible? To determine longitude by the stars. I know men have tried to do so in the past but failed. Brandon the Shipwright was not the only one to be lost in the Sunset Sea. House Farwynd has attempted to sail west but they are a queer folk who claim that a great world untouched by man lies west of Westeros." Harras said.

"It will not be easy but it can be done, Ser. But I would need a few moons to calculate the numbers. I would need to teach others how to use sextants to take a lunar. And I would need to write a book with the tables needed." Jon said.

"Well, once this war is over, you can do more important things like navigate by the stars. I am sure the Citadel will be happy to have you back." Tyrion said.

Jon would have been happy to return to his experiments and studies but the dwarf's concern was laughable. The Lannisters might care if he could turn lead into gold, but sextants and sails - the Westermen had no love of the sea. Lannisport had been raided two dozen times by the Ironborn, and any discovery in navigation would benefit Oldtown and Pyke more. It had been a long time since the sailors of House Farman went out to sea. Jon knew that Tyrion was plotting. He had stayed at Riverrun, hired a mummer in his guards, and those same guards wandered about Riverrun, carrying messages to the prisoners. A mummer, guards, messages, prisoners. Tyrion thought he weaved a plot worthy of Lann the Clever. This wasn't Casterly Rock though, and Jon was not as thick as Corlos Casterly. Jon would end this mummer's farce.

* * *

The Winterfell guards had taken up posts through the Great Hall hidden by stone columns or the rush of servant girls bringing meat and drink for the great feast. There were several dozen guards prowling about, swords ready, eyes vigilant. The Blackfish had instructed Ser Robin Ryger to strengthen the Riverrun defenses but Robb had insisted on other trusted hands from the North: Hallis Mollen, fat Alebelly, young Calon, Jacks, Shadd and Quent. When Jon told Robb in private of his concerns about Tyrion and the mummer guard, the Heir to Winterfell placed the castle on alert, but did not share his thoughts. Even Lady Stark had not been told of the reason, only that Robb was concerned about treachery and mischief.

Robb wore mail under his doublet and Grey Wind stayed by his side at the high table. The Tullys were out in force, with Hoster sitting on pillows and wearing a thick wool robe to hide his shrunken state. His eyes were blurry as he sat between his two children, Ser Edmure and Lady Catelyn, mumbling about events long ago. Jon did not envy the Tullys or Robb, dealing with a sick and dying old man. Hoster Tully may have been a great fighter in his youth, but this was a battle already lost, even if he stubbornly clung on to life. Despite Maester Vyman's efforts, It was only a matter of weeks or months before the Lord of Riverrun would be placed on a wood funeral boat, with his armor, shield and hunting horn, to rest forever in the mud of the Trident.

Jon sat with the Mormonts and the Manderlys. The mood of the table was ebullient with Wylis, Dacey and Lyra all making it past the first two rounds of the melee. Jory had as well but she was absent patrolling the maidenvault. Lady Maege Mormont was bursting with pride at her brood, and Lyra opined that even ten year old Lyanna would have given Theon a sound beating. Jon was seated a fair distance from Robb. The heads of the sworn houses to House Tully were closest to the high table, and many of those Lords sat with their heirs or wives. The great houses of the North - the Karstarks, the Umbers and the Boltons - took precedence, and ambitious nobles like the Glovers and the Freys had claimed better positions at the banquet.

The rich smell of cooked meat wafted through the great hall, aurochs roasted for hours, basted in herb encrusted butter until the skin crackled with juice. Jon and the Manderly brothers were relieved. Wylis and Wendel enjoyed fish but their preferred fare was crabs and lampreys, not endless servings of trout. The servants had already bought out a thick soup of barley and bacon, and snails in honey and garlic, sprinkled with crushed nuts. Jon knew the trout dishes would come - trout in pies, trout fried with almonds, and trout baked in clay - but he hoped for a simple roast chicken or onion pie.

Then Jon felt a growl, deep inside him of suspicion. There were intruders here, men out to harm his friends and pack. He blinked and he was still sitting, surrounded by friendly Manderlys and Mormonts. But the anger was real. Ghost had sensed something, and the dire wolf was a gift from the old gods of the North. The sigils of House Stark were more perceptive than any man. Jon reached out and touched Ghost. He could see now the stairs of the keep and smell the lavender and violet as he hunted down the invaders. He climbed up the floors, past heavy thick doors, following the smell of death.

"Maester, would you like a slice of crab pie?" Wendel asked, his mustache dripping with the thick cream sauce.

Jon blinked and agreed to a slice. He could get rise and rush over to the keep, but the wolf already had the scent. Jon turned his eyes down on the delectable slightly burnt slice, blocked out the noise of toasts by the Blackwoods and Brackens, and returned to Ghost.

He rushed up to the highest level of the keep, bounding the steps two or three at a time. He saw the body on the stone floor, a stocky bald man with Mormont colors, his head turned to the side in an impossible position, with deep bruises on the neck, a swollen dark tongue, and dead eyes. Ghost burst into the next room. There were four red cloaks there, with another Mormont man down, bleeding where he was smashed to the ground. Jon could hear a faint rasp of breath from the unconscious guard but not from the dark haired girl whose was being lifted in the air by strong hairy hands on her throat.

Ghost jumped in the air, his jaw biting cleanly through the left palm, and the red cloak screamed in pain. The wolf savaged the man's right arm, tearing a chunk out of the wrist. Jory gasped for air, falling heavily. Ghost sprang again, knocking down a man attempting to pick a lock to the door to the Lannister prisoners. The other two men cowered at the sight of the bloody jaws of the white wolf. One was tall and blond with a plain face. Under his red cloak, he was garbed in rough homespun clothes. This was the mummer that had joined Garin's troupe.

Ghost snarled and bared his teeth. Jory grabbed her morning star, and yelled loudly, calling for the other Mormont guards. They emerged from the other floors, and Jon knew then that the Lannister plot had failed. Ghost would keep Jory safe and the Lannister men were vastly outnumbered in the keep.

* * *

Jon stood up, and hoped that the pupils of his eyes could not be seen in the smoky hall. Some Riverman droned on and on about the courage of Hoster Tully in the Battle of the Bells.

Jon pointed to the dwarf and yelled. "Arrest Tyrion Lannister."

Chaos broke out as guards converged on the Lannister table. Robb stood up at the high table and Grey Wind snarled by his side. Ser Brynden made his way to the Lannister table, flanked by Ser Robin Ryger and Ser Desmond Grell.

"How dare you? I am protected by guest right." An outraged Tyrion blustered.

"What are you doing, Snow?" Lady Stark cried.

"Jon, what is happening?" Robb said loudly.

Jon made his way closer to Tyrion. Several members of the honor guard had stood up as well - Eddard Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, and Olyvar Frey. "Tyrion Lannister has already broken guest right. He sent four men to free Ser Jaime. They killed one guard, possibly two, and attacked Jory Mormont."

Tyrion's face went white and crumbled in shock. "But, but.. How do you know?"

The outraged She Bears stood up. "Snow, is Jory harmed?" Lady Maege yelled.

"They tried to strangle her, but she will be okay." Jon said and turned back to the Lannister table. "Who else knew? Did Tywin Lannister send you? Your squire, you sword?" Eddard and Harrion Karstark grabbed Bronn and held down his arms. The Smalljon loomed over a frightened Podrick Payne.

"I know nothing of this. I am not in charge of the guards." Tyrion cried.

Jon thought for an instant. "You lie, Lannister. And not only that, you lie badly. There is a reason why you stayed longer, and not to bet on your cousin in the melee. The attempt was tonight, while all of us were feasting. You would have snuck out after your men freed the Kingslayer."

"You have no proof. I have been accused of crimes before by Starks." Tyrion said.

"Lady Stark arrested you for the wrong reason. And I am a Snow. I am accusing you of a crime that you did commit, a plot to free your brother." Jon said.

Robb banged his hand on the table. "I have heard enough." The crowd went silent waiting for his judgement. The door burst open and a Mormont man in plate rushed in, out of breath.

"Lady Mormont. We have been attacked in the keep. Four men. They killed Tomard and they hurt Poules and Lady Jory." The guard cried. The stunned silence was replaced by murmurs, whispers and astonished stares at both the dwarf and Jon Snow.

Robb's angry voice boomed through the hall. "Tyrion Lannister, you have broken guest right. You have attacked my bannermen under the flag of parley and brought murder into the hall of Lord Tully. You will be arrested for your crimes. Guards, take him and all his men."

**Author's Note**

The Velaryons pop up several times in Blood and Fire. The most prominent one is Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake. Addam was a Dragonseed and likely to be Corlys's bastard who rode Seasmoke. He sacrificed himself at the age of 16 to take down an enemy dragon even though he was accused of treason. Alyn is his brother who survived the Dance and went on to great feats. They were both legitimized and Alyn became Lord of Driftmark. In this story, Jon knows about the achievements of other bastards: Orys Baratheon, Addam and Alyn Velaryon, Bittersteel, Bloodraven, and of course the greatest: Daemon Blackfyre.

These are actual books from a wiki of Ice and Fire. **Bastard Born** and **Hard as Oak** are both stories about Alyn Velaryon. Tyrion read **A Caution for Young Girls** when he was crossing the Narrow Sea in a Dance of Dragons.

Strangely enough, apples were popular with royalty. An apple variety that Queen Victoria liked was named Lane's Prince Albert. Catherine the Great liked Golden Pippin apples so much that she imported them to Russia. And the Norfolk Biffin made it to a Dickens story. Crop rotation was a gradual thing. In the Middle Ages, they had a two field system, where half the field would sometimes be fallow to restore nutrients. This went to a three crop field system, where 10% to 30% of the fields were left fallow. Finally in the 18th century, the British hit on a four crop field system, using clover and turnips. The productivity of wheat doubled per acre from 1500 to 1700. It doubled again from 1700 to the early 1800s.

The Romans drank posca, a mixture of vinegar and water. The lower classes and the soldiers enjoyed posca, but the upper classes despised it. On campaign, emperors and generals would show their solidarity with their men by having a simple diet of bacon, cheese and posca.

Celestial Navigation has a fascinating history. I have only read about Western efforts so I can;t say much about the Polynesians who crossed the Pacific in outrigger canoes!, but the sense I have is that they followed the migration paths of birds and animals. That said, they also used star navigation. For the West, Greeks and Phoenicians used stars to travel around the Mediterranean. One Greek, Nearchus who served Alexander the Great, claimed to have travelled to India but we would consider that the Persian Gulf. In the Middle Ages, they actually did reach India, although some of that were Arabs and Asians with sprawling trade networks. That is when sailors started to use the compass and began to try to measure longitude. The Vikings, who were great explorers unlike the one dimensional Ironborn, used a special mineral called a sunstone to navigate.

_"What we know is not much. What we do not know is immense."_ This is a quote by the French mathematician, Pierre Laplace. I chose him for two reasons. The first is that he wrote **Celestial Mechanics**, which used calculus to fill in the details about the stars. He was an extraordinary figure that at least in the US, we know very little about. The second is that Laplace was a favorite of Nathaniel Bowditch, an American who wrote the **American Practical Navigator**, which became the preeminent encyclopedia of navigation in the 1800s. Longitude was solved eventually by using a better clock but it took a long time to build a chronometer that did not lose time at the sea. Before that, you had to use lunars, and that was the method explained in the Bowditch book. Bowditch wasn't the first person to study lunars but his book taught it to the rest of the world. He also was the first person to translate Laplace's** Celestial Mechanics** into English. That took decades and four thousand pages.

The final point is that in American history, the 18th century was an interesting transition from people who sailed by instinct and experience to captains who began to use math and better ways to navigate. It reminds me oddly of today. There were new technologies advancing and people like Nathaniel Bowditch were on the forefront of that wave two hundred years ago. The Greyjoys represent people who want to do things the old way - reaving and raping. Jon sees new possibilities which will matter many chapters later.

The plot to free Jaime Lannister comes directly from **A Clash of Kings**. I don't even remember reading this but Tyrion sends Bronn to search for a murderer, a mummer, a poisoner and a thief in King's Landing to free Jaime. They are disguised as red cloaks and are put into Cleos Frey's honor guard to return to Riverrun. Apparently it is even in two chapters, Tyrion - coming up with the plot, and Catelyn - seeing the hanged plotters when she returns from Storm's End. If Robb didn't have to negotiate with King's Landing, the plot would have happened sooner. The claim in the wiki is that they almost succeeded but I have no recall of it.


	15. The Way of Kings

**The Way of Kings**

"Tyrion, what have you done?"

The question was not asked by Jon Snow and Robb Stark as they led the way to the Maidenvault with the dwarf, his companions and angry Northmen. It was not asked by Ser Jaime who grimaced when he saw his brother dragged, bound by both hands, to the highest floor of the keep. The man behind the question was big, portly and broad shouldered with short balding blond hair and a close cropped yellow that covered his massive jaw. He had the fair skin and green eyes of his family but would never be described as handsome. Kevan Lannister was a steady sensible man and exuded a sense of authority and duty over the other prisoners in the tower, even the Kingslayer.

"He did that, Ser." Jon said, pointing to the chaotic scene unfolding in front of the captives. The dead Mormont man was still out in the hall, his purple tongue hanging out of a face frozen in a rictus of fear. Near the fire, Maester Vyman wrapped bandages about Poules's bloodstained head. The second Mormont guard was still unconscious and might never wake up. Dacey and Lyra glared at Tyrion as they hovered over Jory Mormont who rubbed her bruised neck.

The culprits had been herded in the corner by the two dire wolves. The red cloak killer moaned, crying over his now useless arms, the severed four fingers of the left hand lying outside. Grey Wind snarled at the other three, teeth bared and ready to spring while Ghost watched in silence, jaw and face flecked with blood.

In another corner, Robb's personal guard stood over Tyrion and his cronies. Men from every house in the North and most of the Riverlands had volunteered but Robb only allowed the Karstark brothers and the Smalljon to accompany the Winterfell house guards. Harrion Karstark and Smalljon Umber dragged Bronn and a cursing Vylarr up the stairs by their legs. They had not been gentle. Catelyn Stark came to offer comfort to House Mormont although Jon thought Lady Maege cared only about action and not words. The Blackfish left the Riverrun guards on the lower floors of the keep to represent Lord Hoster and House Tully in the room.

"Now tell me everything about this plot. " Robb said.

Tyrion and his men stuck to a stubborn silence but there was no honor among thieves. The tall blond mummer spoke first. "Milord, they found us near Harroway. We were paid handsomely to free Ser Jaime Lannister. Roren is a strangler. He was to kill the top guards with his bare hands, and then Manfred would pick the locks."

"There are four of you. What were the other roles?" Jon asked.

The man winced slightly. "Dobber is a poisoner. He had some powdered greycap to put into the food the servants were delivering from the Great Hall. That might make some guards sick and cause some confusion. And I am a Mummer - Lister, they call me. I was to replace Ser Jaime in the prison, and he would escape in my clothes." Lister or Lester was not very original in his choice of names.

Besides the height, the man looked nothing like Ser Jaime. His hair was sandy blond, not curly locks of beaten gold. He was not broad or strong and lacked the piercing green eyes, and the cruel smile that cut like a knife. "You look nothing like the Kingslayer." Robb said skeptically.

"I just needed to play the role for a few hours. If the guards didn't discover me that night, I would have sneaked out the next morning, maybe as a servant." Lister said.

It was a bold plan. House Tully had been generous with ale and wine tonight. The guards would not be relieved until later and any missing men might be thought to have overindulged. "Who hired you for this?" Jon asked.

"That man, Ser." The mummer pointed at the dark haired sellsword. "And that boy - I saw him lurking about in the tavern." That would be the squire, Podrick Payne.

"Did you ever see The dwarf? Or any other Lannisters?" Jon asked.

"No, Ser. Great men like that would never consort with ourselves. We were just given a job and told when to do it." Lister said.

"They have never even met me, Snow. You can't show that I was involved." Tyrion said.

"I doubt your sworn sword would pay gold and silver from his purse to free your brother. Bronn, right? Tell me who gave you the coin to buy these men." Jon said.

The thin black haired man kept his mouth shut. He was not insolent but stared straight ahead.

"He is the man who killed Ser Vardis in a trial by combat at the Eyrie. He is a skilled fighter." Catelyn Stark said.

"We are not planning a duel. If you don't talk, it will go hard for you." Robb said. Bronn snorted and remained silent. Harrion Karstark stepped up, ready to pummel the man.

Jon held up his hand. "Wait. So Tyrion Lannister has bought your loyalty. What did he promise you? More gold than anyone else? A small keep in the Westerlands?"

"He is just loyal and honest. I am sure the Starks have men like that." Tyrion japed.

"You Lannisters think because of your gold, that you can kill and rob with impunity. How much are you are being paid?" Jon said.

"Tyrion says he will pay me double what anyone else will. No matter how much they offer." Bronn said.

Jon shrugged. "Well, I would be foolish to compete with Lannister gold. But there are other things that men value. Jory."

"Yes, Maester." The youngest Mormont said with a slight rasp. Had Ghost been a few minutes late, her windpipe would have been crushed.

Jon pointed to Bronn. "Cut off his cock." The dark haired girl grinned and picked up the morning star, the wicked spikes glinting under torch light.

"You can't do this. This isn't honorable." Tyrion cried in shock, and there were gasps from both the Northmen and the prisoners. The other two Mormont girls joined their sister, and Harrion and Eddard Karstark held Bronn's arms behind his back.

"Stark. How can you let this happen?" Tyrion appealing to Robb.

"Be quiet, Lannister. My brother is in charge of prisoners." Robb said coldly.

Lyra pulled down Bronn's breeches and Jory lifted the morning star to strike. "Wait, Jory. If you use a full blow, you might break his legs, and then we will have to carry him down the stairs. Just use the spike on top. Push it straight through his cock." Dacey said.

Just as Jory switched her grip to thrust the tip of the holy water sprinkler down, the sell sword broke. "Stop, Stop. It was Tyrion. He gave me the gold. I found the men in the Lannister camps. A strangler, a poisoner, a mummer, and a thief. Tyrion told me that the escape would happen tonight." Bronn said.

"Looks like your man pissed himself, as well. I guess Lannister gold doesn't always win." Jon said while Jory put down her weapon and Lyra tossed a dirty blanket to the sworn sword with disgust. "Bring the squire over." The Smalljon grabbed him by his neck.

Podrick Payne was a skinny boy with short black hair. Jon guessed that he was ten and three but his chubby face made him look even younger. That and his tears of fear. "Please, ser."

"Tell me what you know." Jon said.

"I didn't know the plot, but I delivered some pouches of coin from Lord Tyrion. And I carried messages back and forth. The last one was before the feast. I didn't read it, Ser." Podrick said.

"To these men?" Jon asked, pointing to the four. The squire nodded.

"I believe my brother has proved your involvement, Imp. Add those lies to your crimes." Robb said.

"I didn't lie. I merely thought that my involvement could not be proven. There is a subtle difference." Tyrion said.

"Tyrion, be quiet. Do not make this any worse." Jaime said. The Lion of Lannister tried to look calm but Jon could detect his obvious concern for his brother.

"Maester Snow, what should we do with the rest of the scum?" Harrion Karstark asked.

"We have heard what they have to say, and these four killed a guard, and wounded another badly. We don't need them as prisoners. Just cut their heads off and mount them on spikes outside the castle." Jon said.

Lister cried out. "Please, Milord. Spare us. Roren is a murderer. We are just liars and thieves. Please. Let us take the Black or serve you."

Jon stared at the whimpering man. "What can you give me alive that I cannot take from you dead?"

"I have a secret, Milord. I can share it with you." Jon nodded for the mummer to continue. "It was not Bronn who found us, but a camp follower, Shae. She is the dwarf's mistress."

"Tyrion Lannister has a whore. Why would I care?" Jon asked.

"Because I have seen her go to other tents, Milord. She has been reporting to Tyrion's father, the Old Lion. I have seen her with him." Lister said.

"So Tywin spies on his son through the whore? Did he know about this plot?" Jon asked.

"I don't know, milord. But Shae knew all of us. In the past. And I know she saw Lord Tywin to tell him things." Lister said.

Jon looked at the dwarf's reddening face and thought for a moment. "You thought you devised a clever plot to trick the Starks. Mummers and murderers - worthy of a bard's song. But your father knew about it. If you succeed, Tywin would have Ser Jaime back without any payment. But if you fail, what did he care? It was your own stupidity. Of course. Vylarr knew. After all, you replaced four Lannister guards with criminals. I am sure he told Tywin as well."

"You can't prove that, Snow. I do not know what my father knew or did not know, and neither do you." Tyrion said.

"I can certainly find out what Vylarr knows. He served your family in King's Landing, and will have tales about Ser Jaime and your sister. Your father is happy to let you take all the risk, and he takes all the reward. His servants dirties their hands like the Mountain while he claims no knowledge. Clever for him. Not so much for you." Jon said.

"Jon, where will you put the prisoners? They killed our men. The sentence for that should be death." Robb said.

"Execute the murderer and the other two. The mummer has given us a secret to save his life. As for Tyrion and his men, how many crow's cages do we have?" Jon asked. These were iron cages, hung from a scaffold where outlaws were placed on display until they died of exposure or starvation. Often they would go mad before they died.

"Riverrun has three of them, Snow." The Blackfish said.

"Put these four into them. Bronn and the squire can share one. Let the visitors to the tourney see them in cages, and know what happens if you break guest right." Jon said.

"I have seen gibbets before. The stench is awful, it attracts flies, and they can survive for weeks." the Blackfish wrinkled his nose.

"Not without water. The Citadel claims that a man cannot live without water for more than four days. We will see if that is true for dwarves." Jon said.

"You are being foolish, Snow. I am still a Lannister. I am worth more alive than dead. And my father may despise me. He may spy on me. But he will also avenge me." Tyrion said as guards forced him to his feet.

"You ordered the death of our men. You had to kill the guards to free Ser Jaimie." Jon said.

"That is the way of war, boy. Smallfolk die, while highborn are held for ransom. Aegon built this wheel three hundred years ago. It will never change." the dwarf said calmly as he trudged away.

* * *

Jon ignored the attention of the servants as they arranged platters of tarts and sweetmeats throughout the large and crowded solar. The maids were too frightened to gaze at him directly but they stole glances from the side. Unlike the assembled Lords, the smallfolk paid no attention to Robb's tale of Lannister treachery at the Maidenvault. They must already know, Jon thought, marveling at the speed of gossip at Riverrun. Jon took several tarts, stuffed with chopped nuts, fruit and cheese, and a flaky crust still warm from the oven. The Tully cooks might overdo the trout, but their fruit tarts, drizzled with honey and spices, were delectable. In the excitement, Jon had missed the banquet, and he filched several tarts while Robb spoke.

"And that is why we imprisoned Tyrion Lannister - for breaking guest right. We have captured his crew of thieves, and three of his men have confessed to the plot." Robb finished to a rapt audience of Northmen and River Lords and Ladies.

"It is an astonishing tale. One that will be told many times over but..' Galbert Glover hesitated. "How did you know of the death? We were in the Great Hall when the attack happened."

The eyes in the room swiveled to Jon. He was fortunate that he had already finished the last blueberry tart. Robb responded for his brother.

"My brother alerted me to the plot this morning. Jon suspected the Imp of treachery and uncovered one of his spies. We alerted the Riverrun and Winterfell guards. We were not certain if the attack would unfold tonight but took precautions." Robb patted his chest, and the shocked lords heard the ring of his fist on the mail shirt. Jon smiled wryly. He wondered how the puppeteers would embellish this story.

A pale plain man stood, his eyes strange and colorless like two white moons. He wore a spotted pink woolen cloak embroidered with droplets of blood. "Lord Stark, what will be done with Tyrion Lannister? Surely you do not plan to hang him in a gibbet." Roose Bolton said in a whisper.

"The dwarf is guilty. His sword hired the men. His squire paid them." Robb said.

"In the North, we hold the laws of hospitality sacred. Yet you executed three men already. This strangler broke guest right by killing the guardsman but Lord Tyrion did not attack anyone. Calmer heads should prevail in judging him." Roose said.

"A man who plots a murder is as guilty as the one who swings the sword." Jon said.

"For most men, that may be true. But Tyrion is a Lannister. We know who the true threat is. Joffrey Baratheon may sit on the Iron Throne, but it is Tywin Lannister who rules. He is a king without a crown, and he will not forget the killing of his son, even if he is a dwarf." Roose said.

"Are you saying we should pardon the Imp, even if he is guilty?" The Greatjon shouted.

The Lord of the Dreadfort remained calm. "If Tyrion Lannister dies in a cage, there will be no peace between the North and the Westerlands while your houses live. Who will speak with the Old Lion? How will you negotiate for Lord Stark's freedom?" Roose said.

"Lord Bolton's words are wise. We want to negotiate a truce, not continue this war. If we must trade four Lannisters for two Starks, then we should thank the Seven for that bargain." Lady Catelyn said.

"I would be happy to speak to Lord Tywin. A peaceful land has always been my desire." Roose said.

"And what of the crime committed? Am I to do nothing when my bannermen are slain by deceit?" Robb said.

Lord Bolton's pale pale eyes looked as empty of emotion as ever. It was impossible to tell whether the Leech Lord was joyful or enraged. "You have executed three men, and imprisoned four others. And if this sellsword or squire dies, no one will care."

A short grey haired woman stepped forward and raised her hand. Lady Mormont did not have her morning star but the crowd stayed silent. "My Lords, my daughter Jorelle was attacked tonight, and nearly strangled to death. The White Wolf saved her. Had she died, nothing would stay my vengeance. But she is alive, and the killer is dead. I do not know or care about the plots of the lions. Whatever Lord Robb should decide, House Mormont accepts. We have kept faith with House Stark for a thousand years. That will not change today."

"I thank you for your loyalty, Lady Mormont. But the Gods curse those who bring murder to their guests or to their hosts." Robb said.

"A dwarf is cursed already. We came South to save Lord Stark. If we need to trade such a monster back to the lions, then we should do so." Rickard Karstark said.

"I will decide Tyrion Lannister's fate, and I will decide who carries our offer back to Tywin Lannister. I have heard your concerns, my Lords." Robb said. He stood up to end any debate. Lady Stark and Edmure Tully moved to speak with Robb, and Jon knew that his brother would be thronged late into the evening.

The tarts were gone but Jon asked for a small supper, a bowl of cold fish stew and biscuits, to be brought to his chambers. The servant girl nodded her head, and rushed to the kitchen. Before he rested, Jon checked three areas - the dungeons housing a thousand prisoners still, the keep with the WesterLords and outside, where Tyrion, Bronn, Podrick, and Vylarr shivered in their cages. The guards were vigilant everywhere, a combination of Mormonts and other men from Winterfell and Riverrun. The House of the She-Bear had turned out in force, their anger over the attack turning into a grim determination that no prisoner would escape.

* * *

Jon dreamed that he was Ghost, running through the woods in the shadow of a monstrous castle with five great towers connected by stone bridges. The scorched marks and slagged stone could still be seen, cracks formed by the immense heat of Balerion's fire when the great dragon roasted Harren and his sons alive. The white wolf did not care for ruins and went instead to the great lake, the water the color of grey steel under moonlight. Jon knew that Ghost was in the keep nearby but in the dream, the dire wolf roamed through the landscape of rolling hills, winding streams, burnt fields and empty holdfasts searching and sniffing the air for his lost sister. She was here at the God's Eye.

Jon had only seen Nymeria in Ghost's dreams. She had dark golden eyes and grey fur, although under moonlight, near the lake, her underbelly might look white as snow. Nymeria was not as silent as Ghost nor as swift as Grey Wind. But she was wild and fierce, as brave as any of her litter mates. Braver, Jon thought. She was a lone wolf away from the Pack. He would find her and bring her home, wherever she was.

"More wolf dreams?" The voice came from a man all dressed in red and smoke. His steel vambraces and gauntlets matched the deep red of his steel conical helmet and were darker than the tabard and the cloak. On his chest, there was a great swooping white dragon, and Jon thought it curious that the royal family had never protested Bloodraven's sigil. Then again, the white dragon only had one head, and not three.

"I was searching for..." Jon started.

"Your little sister. Do not worry." Brynden Rivers chuckled. "That one is hard to kill. You will see her again. But this is not a time for wolf girls. Come and meet a dragon."

Jon patted the dire wolf's head. Ghost wanted to continue the search, but even if Arya and Nymeria were at the God's Eye, Lannister forces separated the sister from her brothers. A reunion was not safe until they defeated Tywin and drove him from Harroway. "Lead on."

They walked through shadows until they came to the front of a massive square fortress with a dry moat lined with a bed of iron spikes and a drawbridge spanning the moat. Maegor's Holdfast boasted walls twelve feet thick and a kingsguard at the bridge, but the keep had fallen several times, the last to Gregory Clegane and Amory Lorch when they murdered Princess Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys. On that day, the kingsguard had been Jaime Lannister and he had failed to defend the royal children, a far greater crime in Jon's mind than killing a mad king.

They passed into a sparse room, one of the few not decorated with rich tapestries or paintings. On the wall, there hung several large shields, bearing a three headed red dragon. A tall boy with broad shoulders and long flowing silver blond hair stood in side profile, his sword thrusting and slicing but only at vulnerable points of an armored training dummy. In less than a minute, the longsword stabbed and sliced through the eye and the mouth slits of the visor, the joint of the neck, both armpits, and the wrists. Jon had seen duels in the practice yards, and the Kingslayer at the Whispering Wood. They were all slow compared to this fighter, whose blade seemed a lightning quick extension of his long and well muscled arms. The boy turned warily to Jon, but he pointed the blade downwards.

At the library of the Citadel, Jon had seen pictures of Aegon the First with a gold and ruby circlet in his silver gold hair, armored in black scale mail and carrying Blackfyre. This boy looked as noble as the Conqueror, and the Valyrian blood manifested in the deep purple eyes and the long silver gold hair. He was clean shaven and young, certainly younger than Jon, but Jon had no doubt that he was far more deadly with the blade than many full grown man. The boy looked every inch a warrior, and a Targaryen prince to boot.

"You do not look like a Dornish spy."

"I am not. Jon Snow, your grace" he said, with a small bow.

The boy snorted and scrutinized Jon carefully. "I did not know my father had bastards from the North. I thought he was too lazy to go further than the Riverlands."

"I am not your father's bastard. But I am a bastard." Jon said.

"Then why are you here in Maegor's Keep? Have you come to enter the tourney?" he asked.

"Tourney?" Jon asked.

"For a spy, you are poorly informed. Today, there will be a tourney for squires. It is to honor the birth of my youngest half sister- Shiera. A poor jape given her mother died in childbirth. But then my father was never known for his sensitivity."

Shiera Seastar. Bloodraven's lover and in her time, known as the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and one of the most dangerous. She had many half brothers, including Brynden Rivers, but one stood above the rest. "Then you must be." Jon realized.

"Daemon. Daemon Waters." The boy sheathed his sword. Daemon was a bastard, and would be for another two years. But on his name day, at the age of twelve, Daemon Waters won a tourney in King's Landing, defeating boys four or five years his elder. For that, he was acknowledged and knighted by the king and given the sword Blackfyre. History had decreed him as a rebel and usurper, and yet Jon could see why men had followed him in battle. Even at ten and two, he was a dragon.

Bloodraven was nowhere to be seen. Jon was alone with Daemon, but he was not yet a Blackfyre. Maester Yandel considered him the wonder and terror of his age but the scribes of the Citadel were prone to gross exaggeration. Daemon was skilled with the sword and quite handsome, but not some inhuman monster born to betrayal. He was just a boy.

"How do they treat bastards in the North?" Daemon asked curiously.

"Probably the same as they treat them here. As a stain on their honor." Jon said. "Today is your name day, is it not? And you are here by yourself, without your family."

"How do you know that?" Daemon said.

"I was ignored on my twelfth name day. Not treated with scorn, but just forgotten. And then my father sent me away." Jon said.

Purple eyes met grey ones, as Daemon grabbed a blunted sword. "Care for a spar?"

Even if he had trained for the last four years at Winterfell, Jon would have been outclassed. But this was the Black Dragon, and he could not help being curious. "I would be honored."

Daemon attacked with a lazy insouciance, probing Jon's defenses. The strikes were quick and effortless, and left no openings. Jon feinted an attack but then pulled back quickly to guard. He barely had any time before Daemon unleashed a furious barrage that forced Jon to give ground even as he parried the blows. The Black Dragon sensing weakness began to rain blow after blow down until Jon almost fell to his knees. Daemon was young, but he was strong and tall, and blessed with a tremendous reach. Jon turned and twisted away, hoping to create space. The dragon pursued and then Jon using his blade only for defense lashed at Daemon's legs with a kick. His right foot swept out, but met only air, as Daemon leaped effortlessly, coming down perfectly balanced. There was no hope of victory matching blows with Daemon. He ran to the side and Daemon, slightly puzzled, followed cautiously. With his left hand, Jon picked up a chair, using it as a crude shield and opting to wield his longsword awkwardly with one hand. Daemon struck again, his slices carving two of the chair legs off, and raised his longsword once more to attack. At that moment, Jon threw the chair at Daemon, then took the longsword with both hands and thrust forward, hoping to land a blow in the chest or shoulder. With almost inhuman speed, the Black Dragon caught the chair with his right hand, spun to the side, and smashed the chair downwards on Jon's sword, and in the same motion, thrust the sword with his left hand at the body.

"I yield." Jon said, the tip near his right shoulder and neck, looking ruefully at the dented blade on the ground.

Daemon placed his blade down, breathing hard. "Do all Northman fight like you? With trickery?"

"I don't know. And I am a bastard so I am well versed in tricks." Jon said.

Daemon laughed. It was a merry sound like Robb after he had played a prank on Sansa and Arya. "I do not think I will face chairs in today's tourney. You fight well, but you need more practice in the yard." He offered Jon a goblet of water.

"I never had a chance. Even with the chair." Jon said as he drank the water.

"I grew up in the Red Keep all my life. I was never allowed to leave, even though my father refused to recognize me. Ever since I could hold a sword, I have trained. Hours and hours each day with the best fighters in the Seven Kingdoms." Daemon said.

"After this tourney, what do you wish to do?" Jon asked.

"Leave this shit hole of a city. I could be a sellsword in Essos - head a company with my brothers, Brynden and Aegor. The Great Bastards." Daemon japed with a bittersweet smile.

"What of your family? Do they not have plans for you?" Jon asked.

"My father is a whoremonger ruled by his lusts. My mother died before I could remember. And my brother, Daeron says he will provide for me and give me an allowance. An allowance!" Daemon struck the great steel shield of Maegor the Cruel with his right fist. "Daeron proclaims himself my liege lord. I am the blood of the dragon. I do not need his favors."

"Does Prince Daeron treat you poorly?" Jon asked.

Daemon's eyes narrowed with anger. "He is all kindness and dignity. But his courtiers whisper against me, and mock me as a bastard and my mother as a whore. She should have been queen. I hate the fucking Dornish."

Daena Targaryen was a queen but she was forced into the Maidenvault by Baelor the Blessed. The smallfolk and the Faith loved the Zealot King but Baelor was a terrible ruler who could have easily destroyed the Seven Kingdoms. The septons claimed that Daena the Defiant was wanton and willful but how many men would appreciate their cock locked up for a decade? Aegon the III had three daughters and they were all discarded to protect a befuddled fanatic. The Faith was fortunate that Daemon Blackfyre was not a dragonrider. He would have burnt down the Great Sept with its marble walls and crystal towers.

"Pardon. I do not wish to whine. There is little I can do about the past - just train at war." Daemon said. He took up his sword again.

"I know what it is to be a bastard. To have a brother garbed in fine clothes while I wear boiled leather and ring mail. To see him praised when I am ignored. I have eaten at the low table on my name day. I never knew my mother, but I have heard my good mother wonder if she was a whore." Jon said.

Daemon nodded. "I must prepare for the tourney. My brothers want to squire for me. Squire for a squire." He laughed. "Farewell, Jon Snow. Perhaps one day, we will spar again."

Brynden Rivers reappeared when the Black Dragon left. He looked at his half brother's back as Daemon walked away, and Jon thought he saw a flicker of regret in the one red eye. Then again, Bloodraven was in the shadows and it was difficult to read that cunning face. "Why did you bring me here? What was the purpose of meeting Daemon Blackfyre?" Jon said.

"He was still Waters then. He was a better man before the sword, the best brother you could imagine." Bloodraven said.

"Enough hints and winks. What was the point of this, Bloodraven? Why am I here?" Jon said.

The Hand of two Targaryen kings ignored the outburst. "An old bitter man gave him a sword and the arc of his life changed. Without Blackfyre, the seeds of the rebellion would have never happened. Daemon might have lived for a long time, and ascended to the throne naturally. Half the Targaryens died in the Great Spring Sickness. The sword was no blessing. It was a curse." Bloodraven said.

"But what does this have to do with me? I have no Valyrian sword to give or half brothers to battle." Jon said.

Brynden Rivers smiled, as if he hid a secret. "You have to make decisions. Even the smallest ones may affect many things to come. And the way of kings is different. They do not follow the laws of the Seven or the Old Gods or even guest right."

"You are talking of Tyrion Lannister. That I should ignore his crimes." Jon said.

"What is more important to you? Justice or Mercy? Honor or Victory?" Brynden said.

"Why must I choose? Can a man not be both good and strong?" Jon asked.

"You must have read too much drivel on Good King Jaehaerys. All of us have to make choices, and they are not as easy as the maesters and septons claim. Decide wisely. There are many would be kings in Westeros, and their choices will determine the fate of your family."

"I would sacrifice honor, mercy and justice to save them." Jon said.

"You may have to but do not forget. Sometimes the cost is greater than the prize, and victory brings only regret." Bloodraven said. And then Jon woke up.

* * *

As he walked to the Tully solar, the various sets of guards reported. There had been no disturbances last night, but many curious eyes on Tyrion and his cohorts. Ser Daven and the other Lannister guardsmen still grumbled but when confronted with Podrick and Bronn's testimony accepted the imprisonment. Of course, the dozens of Mormont guards certainly helped. In the dungeons, Westermen clamored to be set free and offered higher ransoms. If the Imp could be stuffed into a crow's cage, then war could last a very long time.

Jon walked through the door of the solar to see his brother perusing a scroll. A plate of newly fried fish and a mug of dark ale were also on the table. Jon was glad to see that there was a fork and Robb was not placing greasy fingerprints on one of the few scrolls in the library that he had not read. The parchment was old, dating back to the reign of Aerys the First, and Jon was curious what had piqued Robb's interest.

"Morning, Jon. I am sorry we could not speak last night. My Lady mother had much to say. She is concerned about Lord Stark and Sansa. She believes we must come to terms and wishes that we had never captured the Imp." Robb said.

"Does she think we should have let him escape? After Jory Mormont nearly died?" Jon asked sharply.

"I do not know. She is sick with worry. But what do you think? Is there any chance to rescue Father without dealing with Tywin Lannister?" Robb said.

Jon shook his head. "No. King's Landing is over four hundred miles away, and there are enemy forces every step of the way. There are thousands of red cloaks at the capital, loyal to Cersei and Joffrey, and father is held in the Black Cells."

"Lady Stark thinks that if Tyrion is imprisoned or slain, only our most powerful Lords should be sent to treat with Tywin. Otherwise, he will refuse to meet our men. Lord Bolton greatly desires the honor and my mother thinks it unwise to refuse him." Robb said.

"What do you think of Lord Bolton?" Jon asked.

Robb shuddered. "The man scares me. He is so cold, and I remember the stories of Old Nan about the Boltons hanging the skins of their enemies at the Dreadfort."

"Then why would we trust him with such a mission? The Boltons have risen up against House Stark many times." Jon said.

"Do you have any suggestions? My mother fears that Father and Sansa are being mistreated." Robb grimaced.

Jon understood the fears. Prisoners who came from Casterly Rock confirmed that the new King easily lost his temper and could turn from gallantry to cruelty in the blink of an eye. "Not yet. But I dreamed of something last night."

Robb raised his eyes. "What, Jon?"

"Ghost was tracking Nymeria near the God's Eye. He caught her scent. I believe that is where she is - near Harrenhal." Jon said.

"Arya or her wolf?" Robb asked.

"Both. They are alive. I am sure of it." Jon said. There is no point telling Robb of Bloodraven or the encounter with Daemon Blackfyre.

Robb frowned. "Getting Arya from Harrenhal will be difficult. The scum of the Lannister army garrison that castle. The Bloody Mummers and the Mountain's Men. I have spoken to Lady Whent. The castle may be ruined but the defenses are still formidable. We might lose five men for every one of theirs if we try to storm Harrenhal." He didn't need to say that the North did not have enough men to spare. Even with the Rivermen, Robb's forces were still outnumbered by the Lannister army.

They sat in silence. Jon could see the dark circles under his brother's eyes and the pursed lips. The candle on the desk had burnt down to a stub. His brother must have been reading late. "Robb, what is the scroll about?"

"This is the tale of a Lord Hayford who travelled West to fight Dagon Greyjoy. It talks about how he rescued Lelia Lydden from the Iron Isles and bought her home where they married."

'I had no idea you were into such tales of adventure and chivalry." Jon said.

"I am not." Robb unrolled the scroll. There was a map of the Westerlands that Robb had marked with a quill, east of Casterly Rock but south of the Golden Tooth. "Lord Hayford talks much about his travels on the Goldroad. There is a spot here east of the Deep Den, where the road rises, and commands the high ground for twenty miles. It is the perfect place for an ambush. I could build a strong defensive position there, and attack the Lannister army with surprise."

"How would you lure their army so far west? Tywin would leave Riverrun at his rear if he marched there." Jon asked.

"By attacking the Westerlands. If we burn the fields, he would have to chase." Robb said.

"Why? The strength of the Westerlands is not near the Deep Den but on the coast. The peasants will suffer but not the nobles. The Westermen castles are near the sea to defend against Ironborn raiders. You would have to send forces far West to the Crag and Ashemark. Those are strong fortresses. They could hold out for months." Jon said.

"Theon thinks that if we seem ready to attack Casterly Rock, Tywin must retaliate. He says if we threaten to kill both Jaime and Tyrion, that the castellan of the Rock might surrender to save the future heirs." Robb said.

Jon shook his head. "Those are Ironborn tactics. If Balon Greyjoy appeared outside Winterfell holding Bran and Rickon captive, what would our Lord Father do to such a threat? Would he surrender our home?"

"He would pray for their souls, and swear an oath to kill every Greyjoy he could find." Robb said.

"Why would Tywin Lannister be any different? The Rock might fall to treachery but dragging the Kingslayer and the Imp to Casterly Rock would be a mummer's farce. And what would happen to our sister and our father? Threats only matter if they can be carried out. If we kill our prized captives, do you think Tywin Lannister and the Iron Throne will not retaliate?" Jon said.

"You are right. But if we do not trade prisoners, then we must battle. And I do not want to fight Tywin Lannister on his terms, in the shadow of Harrenhal, with his sell swords manning catapults. I want him to come to us, where we can prepare the ground in our favor." Robb said.

"I agree. But for now, the best path would be to trade prisoners. And if that fails, then we must prepare to lure Tywin out." Jon said.

"But what do we do about Tyrion? We can't trade him if he is a corpse. But we can't forget that he violated guest right." Robb said.

"No decision will be perfect. Let me think on this for a day." Jon said.

Robb nodded. "Thank you, brother. I must go attend this tourney, and congratulate the victors. But whatever counsel you give, I will take."

"Perhaps one of the Mormont sisters will win the tourney, and crown you the King of Love and Beauty." Jon quipped. He laughed at the horror on Robb's face.

* * *

The large black feathered bird swooped to a perch above the viewing stand, blending in with the silver trout on the red and blue canopy. The raven looked down as the Tullys took their seats for the first combat of the second day. Thousands watched as Jason Mallister, in purple and silver armed with a shield and sword, faced Harras Harlaw in black plate mail wielding Nightfall. The winged eagles of Seagard repelled the squids ten years ago in a bitter, bloody battle and neither side had forgotten. Jon ignored the clash of battle and turned to the crowd.

He marveled at the sight and hearing of the raven. The bird's sharp eyes could see the grooves on a wreath worn by a Gardener king on a coin that Garlan Tyrell bet against Lord Goodbrook. He could hear not just the yammering of Northmen betting but the whispers of hot blooded swains chasing after the daughters of Riverlords. He saw pickpockets roaming through crowd and men in dark cloaks hiding in the shadows. Jon wondered how many other spies were hidden in the crowd. He had spotted the obvious ones, Tyrion Lannister, Garlan Tyrell, and Harlaw men but Jon knew there were others on the pay of the Lions or the Spider in King's Landing. Were they hidden in the puppeteers, merchants, or the smallfolk? Or they in plain sight - knights and men at arms, who had secret allegiances to other kingdoms?

There was too much to take in, too many sights and sounds, too many enemies to watch. The senses of the raven did not feel as natural as his wolf dreams. As Ghost, smell and taste became stronger and richer and Jon felt more alive and free. The raven did not reject him, but the experience was strange and alien as if every moment reduced his humanity, and made him only a pair of eyes staring into the crowd. Was this how Brynden Rivers felt? He was rumored to be a sorcerer, who could see through the eyes of beasts in the woods and birds in the skies. Jon gritted his teeth. Bloodraven served as Hand for twenty plus years. Had he used ravens as spies for those two decades? So many eyes and so many spies - it was no surprise then that men with secrets feared Bloodraven.

Jon heard a hesitant knock on the door. The castle was thinly manned, and unlike Robb, he had no squires. There were soldiers nearby, but their orders were to monitor the prisoners and watch for strangers in the castle. Even the Riverrun and Winterfell guards were distracted by the second day of the tourney. "Come."

Aysha walked into the room, hunched over like an elderly drudge. The gray shawl hid not only her dark lustrous hair but much of her face, and she was dressed once again in drab browns and faded yellow. She straightened, and unwrapped the shawl, revealing a troubled face. "Milord, I have come to ask you for a request."

Once again, Jon tried to gauge her true age. When they met, she had seemed well past her prime, easily over forty. At the puppet show, he guessed her to be thirty, and that she had been barely a woman grown when she traveled with the mummer's troupe. But now, Aysha looked even younger, her pale blue eyes hesitant and her voice shaky. She was afraid.

"Milord, I have come to beg for mercy for one of your prisoners." She bowed her head deferentially. "I know it is not my place but…."

Jon stopped her with a hand. "It is Tyrion, isn't it? He was your lover."

Aysha looked startled, but then went on bravely. "Aye. Did you know, milord?"

Jon shook his head, "I thought it was a Lannister, but I would not have guessed him. Tyrion is only twenty and six. He could not be more than ten and four when you were lovers."

"He was thirteen, Milord. I was ten and four. We were married by a drunken septon in a barnyard with pigs as witnesses." Aysha said.

"But the Lannisters treated you badly. Why would you wish to save him?"

Aysha stared down at the floor, her voice only a whisper. "They told him I was a whore. His father had me raped by dozens of guardsmen. They held me down and took turns. And Tyrion was the last, and paid a gold dragon when the others threw silver stags at the floor."

Jon nodded. A man who ordered two children butchered would not blink at brutally separating his son from a lowborn lover. "Again, I ask. Why would you save him?"

"He is Gerion's father. And for those two weeks, our love was sweet. He was gentle and good to me. When he knew I wished to be a healer, he bought me books to read. I don't want to see him die, Milord." she said, a tear forming on the inside of the right eye.

"Do any of the Lannisters know about your child?" Jon asked.

She shook her head. "I rested for two days from my injuries. Tyrion never looked for me. I fled Lannisport, and went east."

"I know this is a hard thing to ask but are you certain that Gerion is his child?" Jon asked.

Aysha spoke in a steady voice. "Others may doubt but I am sure. Gerion's lips and smile are his. My boy is smart, quick and kind. He is Tyrion's son."

All those things could be a mother's desire that her child was not a bastard or product of rape, but Jon did not doubt that Aysha believed what she said. "I am sorry for what you have suffered. But Tyrion's fate will be determined by the needs of the North, and the crime he committed."

"You should not be surprised by the attempt. He loves his brother. Jaime told him that I was a whore that he had bought for him. I am certain his father ordered Jaime to do so." Aysha said.

Jon sighed. He was a bastard and banished from Winterfell but his family life was far happier. Ned Stark was a man of honor, and Lady Stark, despite her scorn, would never stoop to such a vile act. For all their wealth, it seemed like shit to be a Lannister. Jon's thoughts were interrupted when a golden haired boy rushed into the room.

"Mother, you are okay!" the boy said.

Aysha embraced her son. "Gerry, whatever is the matter?"

Gerion stopped to catch his breath. "We saw them. Those scunners who attacked us. They were sneaking into Riverrun. I was worried they would hurt you."

"Who did you see, Gerry?" Jon asked.

"That Ramsey fellow and the other bandits. Chett and Satin saw them walking over the West Bridge ten minutes ago." Gerry said.

The tourney was in full swing, with melee battles in front of thousands of cheering spectators. The fields outside offered food, drink, gambling and even whores. Why would Ramsey and his cronies miss such excitement? There was no prize in the castle worth their attention, nothing new except for …. Tyrion Lannister. And Jon realized swiftly what Ramsey was plotting.

* * *

The raven whirled back over the castle walls even as Jon urged Ghost to rush down from the keep. A few loyal Winterfell men followed Jon, unsure as to exactly what was transpiring. Gerry, Chett and Satin were also there, and he urged them to pick up spare weaponry from the forge.

They came upon a half of a dozen men, sour faced and mean looking. One carried a greased whip and many had long hunting knives. They wore the furs of the North but no signia over their brown garb. Ramsey was almost at Tyrion Lannister's cage.

"Halt. What are you doing here?" Jon called out.

An ugly man with broken teeth carrying a short sword turned. "We are Mormont men, just looking in on the captives."

That was an obvious lie. None of the men wore plate mail. In the past few weeks, the forge had produced longswords, maces and spear blades, not knives for skinning and gutting game or poorly made short swords.

"You lie. Get away from the prisoners." Jon raised the steel shield and bought the long sword up to strike. The raven perched on top of iron bars and the Winterfell guards fanned out.

Ramsey Dustin swung up a cocked crossbow. At first, Jon thought he was aiming at the raven but then he realized the target was the prisoner in the cage, Tyrion Lannister. The raven flew at Ramsey's face and the ugly pale man shot the bolt too high, bouncing it off the bars of the cage. Before he could load again, Gerry, holding a shield with both hands, barreled into him, knocking him over. Half of the Bastard's Boys ran for cover, dragging Ramsey with them. The rest drew their weapons and attacked. Ghost killed two, and a Winterfell guard stabbed the last one.

Tyrion got up from his crouch and peered at the bloody scene below. "Snow, did you just save my life?" Bronn and Podrick looked on as well, although the two had been bystanders and not in immediate danger. Jon thought it likely that Ramsey would have killed any witnesses to cover his tracks.

"You should thank the boy. He saved your life." Jon said, offering a hand to Gerry.

* * *

The guard was doubled on the crow cages outside, and the bodies quickly removed. Jon dispatched Chett with a message for Robb at the tourney grounds but the meeting did not happen until after the melee ended. Four fighters remained : Dacey Mormont and Smalljon Umber from the North, and Ser Harras Harlaw and Ser Daven Lannister. Finally, Robb made his way to the solar, accompanied by the Blackfish and Lady Stark. He ordered the door closed behind him, and only Ghost and Grey Wind remained in the room as guards.

"What in the Seven Kingdoms happened, Jon?" Robb asked.

"We killed three men who were sneaking around near Tyrion Lannister's cage. I think they are Bolton men but there is no proof. They wore no insignia." Jon said.

"Bolton men. What were they doing? Were they freeing the Imp?" The Blackfish asked.

"No, I believe they were trying to kill him." Lady Stark and her uncle exchanged looks of shock while Robb remained thoughtful.

"But why would they do that?" Catelyn asked.

"I understand." Robb said. "If Tyrion died under Mormont guard, the Lannisters would think we ordered his murder. They would never forgive our house and if the Iron Throne won the war, they would make House Bolton Wardens of the North."

"But we cannot be certain it was on Lord Bolton's order." Lady Stark said.

"Six men came while the tourney was going on, armed with knives and crossbows. Their leader Ramsey shot a bolt at Tyrion. Three of them escaped. Yes, we do not know whether it was ordered by House Bolton, but who benefits? Who said that Tyrion's death will mean no peace between the North and the Throne?" Jon said.

"Clever. Lord Bolton is heard saying Tyrion should be spared to seek peace. And then he kills the Imp and House Lannister blames us." Robb said.

"There is no proof, Robb. You cannot accuse a great Lord without evidence." Catelyn said.

"Trust is earned, and right now, Lord Bolton has none of mine. I know I cannot arrest him. Jon, what should we do with the Imp?" Robb said.

"If the Boltons want him dead, then we should surprise them. As the Blackfish says, in war, never give the enemy their wish." Jon said.

* * *

That evening, an entire battalion of guards marched Tyrion Lannister to the maidenvault. Not only was the dwarf freed, but Bronn, Podrick Payne and Vylarr were released from the cages as well. The three were put in chains and left near the door, heavily guarded. Tyrion limped as he trudged slowly up the stairs. Still, it was a considerable improvement over the gibbet.

On the table, there were pitchers of water and ale. Platters of hard boiled eggs and cold chicken were next to dishes of fresh brown bread. Jaime and Kevan Lannister were already seated and guards were posted outside. Ghost and Grey Wind had already started dinner, devouring two whole chickens and looking for more.

"No wine? I am parched." Tyrion said, smirking at the rolled eyes of his uncle and brother.

"You are an impudent fellow." Robb said, half annoyed and half amused.

"Guilty. My father would say that I have been impudent since birth and I don't mean to change before I die. Although, I guess that you do not mean to kill me. If you did, you would not release me, or bring me to see my family."

Kevan poured a mug of old water and handed it to the dwarf. "Lord Stark, I would ask you to spare Tyrion's life. His plot was foolish, but he did so to free his brother. Peace is preferable to war. My brother would be greatly angered if one of his children were slain."

"We do not care if Tywin is angered. But we do wish our Lord Father to be returned. And for that, we are willing to make a deal." Robb said.

"Despite your plot, we are willing to free you. But for two things. First, you must confess in the great hall that you broke guest right. And second, you will tell Tywin Lannister that Ned Stark should be freed and return as Lord of Winterfell." Jon said.

"And does your change of mind have something to do with the attempt this morning? Who were those men you killed?" Tyrion asked after he gulped down his glass.

"They were men who wished you dead." Jon said.

"I thought you felt the same last night, bastard." Tyrion smiled.

Jon shrugged, "You know the story of the Rat Cook. The Gods punish oathbreakers even if we do not. We wish our father returned to us as Lord of House Stark."

"I do not know if I can do that." Tyrion began, ignoring the angry look of his brother. "My father is a stubborn man and he may insist that Lord Stark take the Black."

"If my lord father is Warden of the North, then he will keep the peace between the North and the Throne. But my brother and I will not. The Iron Throne must deal with both Stannis and Renly Baratheon. Your father's army will be trapped in the Riverlands unless he makes peace. What will he do when the Baratheons attack King's Landing?" Robb asked.

Tyrion winced. "You make a good point, my Lord. Very well, I promise to speak to my Father. I will urge him to free Lord Stark with peace between the North and the Iron Throne."

"Tell Lord Tywin that I believe it would be a wiser choice as well. There are more battles to be fought, and the return of Lord Stark and his daughter is a fair price." Sir Kevan said.

"My father does not listen well. But he is eager to get Jaime back. He will be delighted to see me, and I will be happy to ask how much he knew of my plans from Shae. May I also ask for my squire and my boon companion to be returned?" Tyrion said, buttering some dark bread.

"You ask for a great deal. Your sellsword hired the murderer." Robb snapped.

"Only on my orders. And I owe the man. In fact, if you dragged me again in front of the Lords, I would have demanded a trial by combat with Bronn as my champion." Tyrion said.

"That would be foolish. You push your luck too far." Jon said.

"Bronn won a trial in the Eyrie." Tyrion said.

"Because Lady Arryn is a fool. I would allow you to choose him as a champion. And then, I would break both of his arms. He would fight poorly." Jon said. The Imp looked incredulous but Jon continued. "Trial by combat protects highborns. Bronn is not one, and he confessed to these crimes. Your little trick would not help you escape justice."

"You may have your squire and sworn sword. But there had best be no more plots or silly tricks. I want my father and sister back. I want them back soon." Robb said.

* * *

That night, in the great hall of Riverrun, Tyrion admitted to his crimes. He pledged that he would speak to his father about Ned Stark's return as head of House Stark. Jon watched but Roose Bolton's face remained cold and silent, giving nothing away. Ramsey Dustin could not be found, and his men had also disappeared.

On the final day of the tourney, Dacey Mormont defeated Ser Daven Lannister and Ser Harras Harlaw to emerge as a champion. The last bout was an epic contest and Dacey's holy water sprinkler held up well against Nightfall. She gave the crown of red and white roses to Lady Maege and her two sisters, a great relief to Robb who had feared that he would be crowned King of Love and beauty.

Peace reigned in the next few days. Merchants and showmen packed up to return West and South. Garlan Tyrell and Owen Fossoway said farewell, and extended an invitation for Jon to visit Highgarden and Cider Hall. Even Harras Harlaw paid his regards to Robb Stark for the entertaining three days before he returned to his ship, Sparrowhawk. After the visitors left, Jon fired up the forge, and continued to produce steel armor and weapons.

That made the shock of the raven even greater. It had come not from Harrenhal or Harroway but rather King's Landing. Jon was working outside at the hot blast furnace checking new swords when the raven arrived. He ignored it until he heard the mournful howl of a dire wolf. Jon and Ghost rushed to Grey Wind's side.

When he entered the solar, Jon saw a grim Brynden Tully consoling a crying Catelyn Stark. Robb's face was solemn and cold as he handed Jon the missive. Ghost marched over to his littermate. Jon read the letter.

**_By order of the Crown, Eddard Stark has been found guilty of treason and beheaded before the Great Sept of Baelor. House Stark is ordered to come to King's Landing to bend the knee._**

**_Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men._**

The brothers stared at each other, communicating without words. The two dire wolves, Ghost and Grey Wind, stood next to their masters, teeth bared in silent snarls and eyes dark and hard.

* * *

The commanders of the North and the Riverlands gathered hastily in the great hall. Lady Catelyn, her voice firm despite the streaks of tears on her face, read aloud the raven. At the high table, Jon sat at his brother's right hand, with the Blackfish and Edmure Tully on both sides. The lords and ladies listened as Lady Stark's voice filled the hall, but when she finished, pandemonium broke out.

"We cannot serve this Lion King."

"Joffrey must be a bastard. Why else would he kill Ned?"

"The Iron Throne has gone mad."

Lord Bolton's soft voice cut through the crowd. "Lord Stark, do you think that Lord Tywin ordered this? As revenge for capturing Tyrion and Jaime Lannister."

"Tyrion Lannister would have just arrived at Harroway with our message. Tywin Lannister wants the Kingslayer back, and my Lord Father was his most valuable hostage. I believe these were the orders of Cersei and Joffrey." Robb replied.

"Joffrey the Illborn. Son of the Kingslayer and his sister." A Cerwyn knight cried.

"The North cannot serve a lion bastard. I say we break away from the Iron Throne." Rickard Karstark cried.

"But who do we support? Stannis or Renly?" Voices murmured in the crowd.

The Greatjon stood up, all seven feet of him, his hands pointing to Robb. "My Lords, I don't want to swear to any stag or lion. I saw we have a king and his name is Stark. There is the only king that has my oath."

A boisterous cry broke out. "King in the North. KING in the North! **KING IN THE NORTH!**"

Jon slammed his hand on the table and stood up. "NO. We did not come South for Robb to become king. We came for one reason only. To bring my father and sisters home. House Stark does not want a throne. We want revenge for the injustice done to my father."

Confusion reigned in the crowd. "But, but… the Iron Throne….."

Robb stood then and motioned with his hand for silence, his blue eyes glaring and his voice icy. "My brother Jon is right. Joffrey will pay for his crimes. My Lords, you swore oaths to my father, to Lord Eddard Stark. Now he has been murdered by a boy king. Are you loyal? Will you be true to your vows? We will fight in my father's name and hurl Joffrey off the Iron Throne."

Robett Glover spoke. "But Lord Robb, which king will we follow?"

Robb looked to Jon who nodded in silent agreement. "We will follow anyone who gives us justice. Whoever brings us Joffrey's head will have our swords." Robb said. "I do not care if it is Renly or Stannis or a Targaryen Prince. The boy king orders me to come to King's Landing. I will come, but not to kneel. I will come for Joffrey with fire and sword. **FIRE AND SWORD**. In Ned Stark's name."

There was no banging of tankards or pledges with naked swords or oaths of fealty. For the Young Wolf and the White Wolf, all that remained was a cold and terrible anger. They did not care about ancient titles or the Crown of Winter. Only justice and vengeance mattered.

**Author's Note**

_The Way of Kings_ is a reference to the terrific book by Brandon Sanderson. It is extremely long and has a complex plot with multiple flashbacks but one of the major themes is doing what is right and hard over taking the easy path to success. In my mind, Kaladin Stormblessed is a lot like Jon, with the sense of honor, the moodiness and despair, and the willingness to sacrifice for others and his family. (Actually that describes Harry Potter too!) He is terrible with women, despite being attractive. The Stormlight Archive has a long way to go, but hopefully Kaladin achieves a great destiny, and doesn't turn into a schmuck like TV Jon Snow in the last season.

The plot of the murderer, the poisoner, the mummer, and the thief comes from the book, and it seems like a throwaway example of Tyrion's cleverness. Perhaps, GRRM meant to foreshadow Catelyn Stark's release of Jaimie which exhibits incredible naivete (even if Jaimie was released, why would his dad let Sansa go?), screws Robb completely over with the Karstarks, leads to several innocent squires butchered, introduces Brienne, and chops off Jaimie's hand, leading to the redemption arc. And yes, I can't figure out exactly what the poisoner was supposed to do.

How much did Tywin know about Tyrion's plots? I would guess, an enormous amount. Tywin strikes me as an extreme control freak, which is why his kids turned out to have serious issues. Would he have known about Tyrion's whore? I am sure. And would that whore inform his father, who was far wealthier than his son, had much more power, and commanded thirty thousand men? I would bet that Shae ratted out Tyrion long before King's Landing.

Daemon Blackfyre is one of those incredible characters that no one knows anything about. One of the most intriguing quotes is from the three eyed raven.**_ "I have my own ghosts, Bran. A brother that I loved, a brother that I hated, a woman that I desired."_** The hated brother is Aegor Rivers (of the Brackens) and the woman is Shiera Seastar. But who is the beloved brother? The assumption by most is that it is King Daeron the Good. But Daeron was 22 years older than Brynden Rivers and already a father. Would Daeron really have been that close to a bastard half brother when he had children and courtiers? I doubt that. On the other hand, I can see a lonely Daemon Waters protecting his bastard brothers. Certainly, before being given Blackfyre, Daemon could have wanted to run away to Essos.

Does Tysha forgive Tyrion too easily? I imagine her feelings are very conflicted. She loved him, and perhaps still does but he abandoned her to a horrible fate, and raped her in the end. But I think there is enough there that she would have pled for his life. She hasn't forgiven him and she doesn't want the Lannisters near her family. Despite the close calls, neither Tyrion nor Jaime have discovered Gerion, yet. And yes, Gerry saves his father's life.

Robb is a great tactician but a terrible strategist. One of the most critical errors was the interaction with Roose Bolton. Robb is rightly afraid of him, (it states that twice openly in the book) and yet, he trusts him with the bulk of his army. Roose has charge of the forces in the Battle of Green Fork, taking of Harrenhal. Roose orders Stark loyalists to Duskendale where they get slaughtered by the Mountain. Long before the Red Wedding, the Boltons turned traitor and none of Robb's advisors caught that. Jon is Robb's spymaster so the dynamic is different - even if Jon can't prove that Ramsey Dustin is a Bolton. The Boltons are clever scumbags.

**"Fire and Sword"** is an expression that Lady Rohanne Webber uses in The Sworn Sword. She is awesome and incidentally Tywin Lannister's grandmother! Tt would be even better if she ran away to join Duncan the Tall at Tarth when she disappeared from Casterly Rock. Then she may also be related to Brienne of Tarth. Some of the less well known characters are the most intriguing in the GOT universe.


	16. Battle Plans

**Battle Plans**

The camp buzzed with activity when Tyrion returned that afternoon. Armored guards stood stiffly around in every direction, hands on spears and looking outwards. He could count at least a dozen boys attempting to look alert instead of frightened outside the large crimson tent, emblazoned with golden lions. That was a very bad sign. The presence of so many squires meant their lords were meeting with his father. No sane bannermen wanted to spend much time with Tywin Lannister. The Old Lion's temper had never been good, and the Northmen had not done anything to improve that.

Tyrion passed through the tent flap to see a dozen commanders, most looking like they wanted to be elsewhere. Only Addam Marbrand and Gregor Clegane returned his father's furious gaze. Tywin Lannister clutched a letter in his hand, and Tyrion was glad that he was not the bearer of that particular message.

Tyrion cleared his throat. "Father, I have a proposal from Robb Stark. In exchange for Lord Stark and his sister, he will offer." He stopped when the letter was thrown down, for all to read. The room was silent as he read the news of Ned Stark's execution.

"The North will be most angered to hear this." Harys Swift said, the chinless man clasping his pale effeminate hands together. He looked like a rich beggar.

"Yes, thank you for that sound piece of reasoning." Addam Marbrand said. "Tyrion, it is good to see that you are safe."

"My Lord, we must make certain the King does not kill other hostages. Else," Robert Brax said.

"Get out." Tywin Lannister did not raise his voice but the aura of menace was clear. Tyrion turned to leave with the other Lords and knights before his father called him back. "Not you."

As he left, Addam Marbrand whispered to Tyrion. "The raven only came a few hours ago. The news has been spreading through the camp."

Tyrion nodded. In one stroke, his nephew had made certain the war would be long and bloody. He waddled up to the table and sat next to his father. To his great surprise, Tywin poured him a glass of water.

"How is Jaime?" Tywin said.

"They are treating him well. He is held in a tower with Uncle Kevan, Willem and two of Aunt Gemma's boys, and tightly guarded. Robb Stark and Jon Snow would have traded him for Ned Stark, but they insisted their father remain Lord of Winterfell, and not take the Black. But I do not know what will happen now that there is no exchange possible." Tyrion said.

Tywin gnashed his teeth. "The boy is an utter fool, and half mad."

"Did my sister know about this?" Tyrion asked.

"Cersei claims that the plan was to send Ned Stark to the wall after he admitted to treason and took back any claims of bastardry. But Joffrey called for his head and she was too weak to stop him. Too weak to control a thirteen year old boy! And now Ned Stark is dead." Tywin said.

"I would rather have Ned Stark leading the armies of the North than his two sons." Tyrion said.

"Two sons? Only Robb Stark is trueborn."

"The bastard is a danger. He constructed a new furnace that produces a large amount of high quality steel. He built the bridge over the Trident, and according to the whispers of the Freys, ordered it destroyed." Tyrion said.

"A danger to you. He locked you and your men in an iron cage." Tywin snorted.

"Did you know of my plans? That my life might be in danger if they failed?" Tyrion asked.

"Your silly plot did fail. And as for your men, the money you pay them comes from me. But you are not dead, which shows the Stark boys are smarter than Joffrey." Tywin wrapped a mailed fist tightly around his goblet. Tyrion wondered if his father imagined that neck belonged to Joffrey or to his sister. "I would have accepted their offer, and freed Ned Stark to return North, so long as Myrcella was betrothed to Robb Stark."

Tyrion nearly spat out his water. "Why would you do that? My sister would not agree."

"Then she is a fool. Her grandchildren would rule the North. And if the Heir to Winterfell married Myrcella, the Starks would have to accept her children on the Iron Throne."

His father thought only of power and legacy. The happiness of children or grandchildren had never mattered. "Joffrey might not agree. He has no love for the Starks, and he is the king." Tyrion warned.

Tywin sneered to show what he thought of the king's opinion. "Who is our most dangerous enemy?"

Tyrion stopped to think. His father would only ask the question if the answer was obvious to him but unclear for everyone else. "Stannis Baratheon?" He guessed.

A look of approval flashed so quickly in Tywin's eyes that Tyrion wondered whether he imagined it. "Stannis is a greater danger than all our other enemies combined. What would happen if he married Shireen Baratheon to Robb Stark?"

"The girl is but ten years of age. And she has greyscale. Would the Starks not wonder whether she can bear a child?" Tyrion asked.

"She is the same age as Myrcella. If people believe these lies regarding Cersei and Jaime, the girl is the crown princess. Her hand in marriage is worth a great deal. If Robb Stark married Shireen Baratheon and they found a match in one of the daughters with Robin Arryn -"

"Then it would be Robert's Rebellion all over again. A Baratheon usurper, allied with the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale." Tyrion finished.

"You are not as much of a fool as you look. We would lose just like the Targaryens. It is fortunate that Stannis is too short sighted to make such an alliance." Tywin said.

Or he cares a tiny bit about the happiness of his only daughter, Tyrion thought.

"What did you see of the Tullys? Is there any animosity between them and the Starks?" Tywin asked.

"Hoster Tully is practically dead. The man never left the castle for the tourney and looked old and ill even at the feast. As for Edmure and Brynden, they have accepted Robb as one of theirs. Ser Brynden is one of Robb Stark's closest military advisors."

Tywin scowled. "That is not good. The Blackfish is a seasoned commander. He fought well in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and Robert's Rebellion. If the Young Wolf trusts him, then the boy has a good head for war."

"Both boys have heads for war. I spoke to Jaime and Kevan. They were taken by complete surprise on the battlefield. There are whispers that the battle plans were devised by both the Young Wolf and the White Wolf. And before you even ask, the two are loyal to each other. They were raised as Starks." Tyrion said.

"The Starks may cling to their honor but there are others who do not. We may yet defeat them with ravens and promises to their men." Tywin said.

Tyrion understood his father's words. Every great house had issues with their bannermen but not everyone could point to the Rains of Castamere as the price of disloyalty. Still, he wondered if his father misjudged their enemies. "I am not certain if Jon Snow cares much about honor. He threatened to chop off a man's cock with a morning star to force a confession. He stuffed me in a cage to die. He does not behave like Ned Stark at all."

"The bastard is a wolf, and his actions achieved his goals. You are still alive. His threats forced you to admit to the plot in front of the Northern Lords, and to argue for Ned Stark's freedom. Still, lions are more feared than wolves." Tywin said dismissively.

That might be true but a dire wolf was entirely different. Jon Snow reminded Tyrion of Tywin Lannister. The boy might be ten and six but there was a hardness to him and a strong, almost fanatical, devotion to family. Tyrion underestimated the bastard and that almost cost him his head. He still could not fathom how Snow knew of the murder so quickly.

His father spoke then of King's Landing, ruling as the Hand, and reining in his sister, his nephew and the Small Council by force if needed. That suited Tyrion for more than the battlefield. Leaving Shae behind was no great burden. In the city, there would be wine, food and plenty of whores. He would not have to worry about being stuffed into a gibbet, starved to death, or having his cock chopped off. With the failure of his mission thanks to Joffrey, Tyrion wanted to be as far away from the Riverlands as possible. Let his father deal with the wolves. He left as Tywin began to write ravens to Casterly Rock, the Golden Tooth, and Ashemark.

* * *

On the day after the news, Robb called a morning meeting in the solar for all the lords and commanders of the North and the Riverlands. Even ladies who did not swing spiked maces attended. In looks, Robb Stark had always favored his Tully side - broad shoulders, deep blue eyes and thick lustrous red brown hair. That morning, he appeared more like a Stark - somber and austere with the hard eyes of a man used to cold winters. Jon stood at his side and both Ghost and Grey Wind eyed the large crowd with a vigilance bordering on distrust.

After the announcement of Ned Stark's execution, Robb and Jon disappeared into the godswood, so small that it was more a bright and airy garden than the grim shadowy forest of Winterfell. There, in front of a slender and young weirwood tree, and with only their dire wolves as guards, they sparred with blunted swords, wailing at each other with great force. There was no jesting or pretense but a fierce desire to honor their father's death and unleash their fury in battle. Robb was stronger and more skilled at the attack but Jon was quicker, and he caught his brother several times on a counter. When they emerged hours later, bruised and battered, to the dismay of Robb's honor guard, the two brothers had decided on their course of action.

There was no time for grief or apprehension. In another life, Jon and Robb might have hacked at trees with their swords or prayed to the old Gods for justice. There was a better path now - to cripple the Lannister army and force Joffrey to choke on fire and ashes. There were no tales of Ned Stark wailing or whinging when he heard of Brandon and Lord Rickard's death by fire. Their Lord Father called his banners and marched South to make alliances and topple the Iron Throne. They would follow that path or die trying. In their duel, Jon and Robb had mourned their father's death. Now it was time for work.

When the door to the packed room closed, Robb stood up next to Jon. "My lords and ladies, there is more news to share. The North and the River are not alone in our battle. Renly Baratheon is to marry Margaery Tyrell. He means to crown himself King." Robb said.

The crowd gained life as they considered this development. "Lord Robb, how did we know of this?" Theon Greyjoy asked.

"Jon discovered it at the tourney. He believes that most men of the Stormlands would follow their Lord Paramount over Stannis Baratheon. That with the Tyrell swords and the houses of the Reach would give him an army of seventy thousand, perhaps even more." Robb said.

"Then he will win the Iron Throne. How can such a vast force be defeated?" Stevron Frey said.

"They are still Southron weaklings. They will fold against Northern steel." the Greatjon declared. The Umbers were not known for their diplomacy.

"I do not mean to fight the Reach. The North will pledge fealty to anyone who brings us Joffrey's head. But we do not know much about this Renly Baratheon. Will he treat with his brother Stannis? Is he a man the North can follow with honor? And can he smash the Lannisters?" Cheers greeted Robb's last words. The Young Wolf held up his hands for quiet. "That is why I intend to ride to Bitterbridge to speak with Renly, and see if he will give us swords and men to liberate the Riverlands. And in my absence, my brother Jon will command the armies of the North and the Riverlands." Robb said.

Jon would have chuckled at the outrage on Lady Stark's face if it had not been such a serious matter, and if he wasn't watching the Boltons and the Karstarks. Catelyn Stark disliked him but Winterfell men would follow Robb's orders. The same could not be said for the other Northern lords. There was some shock but Roose Bolton hid his feelings well, and Rickard Karstark only had a moue of disgust, not a full throated objection. Robb's honor guard though seemed perfectly fine with the turn of events - the younger Karstarks, Smalljon and Wendel Manderly.

"Robb, you cannot expect Lords and knights to follow a …" Lady Stark began.

"He is my blood. My lords and knights, you swore allegiance to Ned Stark. My father has always said that Jon may not have his name, but he has his blood. We are the two oldest sons of Lord Stark, and I expect you to follow him, as you would me or any Lord Stark." Robb said sternly, daring any man to object. Jon was proud of his brother. Only two moons ago, Robb had been as uncertain as any green boy marching to war. Now, even uncrowned, his bearing was as regal as any ancient King of Winter.

"My Lord, we accept that you may have to speak with this King Renly. But how do we know if your brother will follow your orders? We would not want any confusion or misunderstandings in your absence." Roose Bolton said in a whispery voice.

"My Lords, my brother and I have discussed our battle plans extensively and he has my trust. Together, we have decided on how to attack the Lannister army. Jon?" Robb said, stepping away so that the full attention of the room fell upon the bastard of Winterfell.

"The Lannister army has plagued the Riverlands for three moons - but in their attacks, they have revealed their hand. I have spoken to many who have suffered these raids, and there is a pattern. Lady Smallwood, describe the attack on Acorn Hall." Jon said.

Ravella Smallwood recovered quickly from her surprise. "Acorn Hall is a small keep but with strong stone curtain walls. We could not stop the bandits from burning the fields and driving off all the livestock."

"Lord Darry, what did they attack besides the castle in your lands?" Jon asked.

The nine year old boy blinked. "The maester says they sacked our storehouses of grain and stole thousands of wheels of cheese."

"Lord Piper, when the Mountain attacked Pinkmaiden, what did he carry off?"

"They attacked our baggage train. They burnt the castle and lands and they dragged off many of the wagons. We lost a great deal of dried meat and fish." Clement Piper replied.

"What does it matter what they took, Snow? It is gone now." Theon said.

"Food - they are taking food. But that happens often in war." the Blackfish said.

"Tywin Lannister sent out these men not just to rape and burn, but to forage." Jon nodded to Chett and Gerry, and the two boys brought out a map of the Riverlands. The three forks of the Trident were clearly marked with a large white dot for the Lannister army at Harroway. On the sides of the map, the borders were drawn in red - the Crownlands, the Vale, the North, the Westerlands and the Reach. "Tywin Lannister has a large army that requires a lot of supplies. Ser Stevron, are the lands near the Crossing fertile?"

The old grey haired man shook his head. "Only near the Trident. There are a few farms but the lands further east are rocky. The kingsroad carries men, and the Green Fork carries trade and supplies. If the Lannisters move from the river, they would find mostly forests and rocky hills."

"Our army has broken the siege of Riverrun, and this castle sits on the River Road, that links Lannisport to the crossroads. We can shut off all supplies from the West. The Reach has declared for Renly. They will not ship food North to the Lannisters. As for the Vale.." Jon said.

"My niece has shut the Vale of Arryn down entirely. The Bloody Gate is closed tighter than a whore's cunt after you lose your purse." The Blackfish said. There were gasps of outrage from a few ladies present, but many men in the room nodded. They understood exactly the predicament described.

"Right - so Tywin Lannister cannot get food from the North, the West, the South, or the East. He has thirty thousand men and ten thousand horse. What will they eat?" Jon said.

"They still have the Crownlands. Duskendale, Rosby, Stokeworth - there are many farms there." Lord Mooton said.

"Yes, but the Crownlands also have another issue. King's Landing. The city has half a million people and they are fed by the Reach, the Stormlands, and the crownlands. My Lords, I submit that the war will expand beyond the riverlands. As soon as Renly declares, the Tyrells will not send any more food. The Baratheons will shut down both the Stormlands and the Crownlands near Dragonstone. And Tywin Lannister will need supplies desperately. Anything he takes from the Rosby and Stokeworth cannot feed the Throne." Jon said.

"You want us to starve him out. To weaken the Lannister by destroying his access to food supplies." The Blackfish said.

"But.. what will happen to the people in the Riverlands? If the Lannisters starve, they will as well." Edmure Tully said.

"Smallfolk always suffer in war. Hungry men are easier to kill. This is a good strategy. Tywin Lannister may have Harrenhal but no army does well without food." Brynden Tully said.

"I understand your concerns, Lord Edmure, but there is another target. House Lannister prides himself in having the best, most well equipped army. We saw that at the Whispering Woods when the Lannister knights rode destriers and chargers. These are large horses, formidable in battle, but they eat a great deal more than a regular steed. A destrier might eat twenty five pounds of grain a day. Tywin Lannister has ten thousand horses. He needs over two hundred thousand pounds of grain a day for his cavalry alone." Jon said.

"What does that matter, Snow? He could just turn his horses out on the fields. They can eat grass and go into the forest." Theon said.

"Snow is right. I saw this in Essos, during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. You can let your horses forage but then they become vulnerable to theft and getting killed. Maelys the Monstrous hired hundreds of Dothraki and Tyroshi bandits. When our horses grazed in the open, they would steal horses and mules. It was a giant pain in the ass." The Blackfish said.

"Is it chivalrous to attack animals?" the young Lyman Darry asked.

"This is war, Lord Darry. We will do two things. Lord Stark will ride south to Bitterbridge. We will send men to clear the way down, and kill any Lannisters we find on the way to High Heart, Acorn Hall, and the Stony Sept. From North to Seagard and south to the Gold Road, we will control that entire line, and nothing will come from the Westerlands to Tywin's men. And next, we will deploy men east on the River Road. Lord Bolton and Lord Karstark, I want every Lannister forager killed. I want Tywin's army to be shut off from any food in these lands. The Bloody Mummers, the Mountain's men - if they show their heads, they will lose them." Jon said.

"My outriders will help as well. The scouts will look for any horses across the Trident, or any bands of sellswords or Lannister men. If we find their supply lines, we can mount hit and run attacks." the Blackfish said.

"Hunger will win our battles more easily than swords." Jon said.

"I intend to ride to Bitterbridge this evening. It will take me a few days to get there. I will return in a moon's time, and that the Lannister forces will be weakened so we may attack." Robb said.

"Lord Stark, Tywin Lannister is not the only one who needs to worry about food. We also have tens of thousands of men and five thousand horse. What of our supplies? Our army cannot stay here for many moons without greater stores." Roose Bolton asked.

"We share your concern, Lord Bolton. I will speak to the Reach. And I trust Jon to make other plans as well." Robb said as his brother nodded.

* * *

There was a great deal to do that morning. Besides the forge and the dungeons, Jon spoke to several Lords and their most trusted commanders. Between Riverrun and the Goldroad, there were three places that would serve as natural points to house men and supplies - Acorn Hall, Pinkmaiden and Stoney Sept. Acorn Hall and Pinkmaiden were the castles of House Smallwood and House Piper. Stoney Sept was a walled town just north of the border with the Reach. It was pledged to Wayfarer's Rest but the Vances left it alone. Several knights, like a cadet branch of the Osgreys, held holdfasts near the town. With the assistance of the Blackfish, Jon assigned the Hornwoods, the Forresters, and the Glovers to work with eager Riverlords to drive out any Lannister men south of Riverrun.

The key was ensuring that the Northmen and the Riverlords could coordinate and communicate. Jon ordered that a grid of posts be formed, where men on fast horses could ride from one castle to the next to alert of any enemy soldiers. Ravens could fly only from castle to castle. Having dedicated messengers, even if they were boys or squires, would ensure that no Lannister foragers escaped detection. With the outriders and better lines of communication, the raiders would no longer have the element of surprise, and instead face ambushes and harassment. Jon kept his ability to warg into ravens and wolves a secret. Besides Robb, only the Blackfish and the three Blackwood sons knew. There were whispers of course, and Northmen muttered about ancient tales of skinchangers like Gaven Greywolf, the Warg King, who had been slain by an ancient Stark King of Winter.

Jon went to see Robb as his brother prepared to depart. Robb chose to travel late, taking half a dozen men at arms and the same number of his battle guard. Many had wanted to come but he chose a mixture of Rivermen - Patrek Mallister, Olyvar Frey and Lucas Blackwood - and Northmen - Robin Flint, Donnel Locke, and Owen Norrey. Catelyn Stark had insisted on going as well, and she was protected by a few Winterfell stalwarts. More importantly, Grey Wind would watch over Robb. Jon trusted the dire wolves more than any man. He had warned Robb to be suspicious of anyone the dire wolves disliked.

He waited until the Tullys left the solar before entering. Edmure Tully might be the next Lord Paramount of the Trident, but even the Rivermen looked more to Jon Snow for guidance in military matters. The Young Wolf's acumen at war was unquestioned, and he had chosen the White Wolf as his proxy in those matters.

Jon entered to see his brother in deep thought. Grey Wind looked bored though. Jon took a pitcher and poured two fresh goblets of watered wine. "What are you pondering?" he asked.

His brother looked up with a small frown. "If I was King in the North, I could legitimize you. You would be a Stark." Robb said.

Jon sat down. "I am sure Lady Stark would be even happier about that. We don't need our bannermen to hear of any disagreements in House Stark."

Robb snorted. "Our bannermen want to win battles. If I die, you must lead the North. Bran cannot lead the army. A young crippled boy will not inspire men to follow."

"Robb, you won't die. The only danger you face is overeating at a Tyrell feast. Don't indulge in too much roast swan or sit on top of a pigeon pie, and you will be fine. You are in more danger of getting betrothed to a red cheeked Fossoway or perhaps a Redwyne." Jon japed.

"Do they really have pies with live pigeons? What would happen if the birds pooped in the pie?" Robb asked, momentarily diverted.

Jon shuddered. "I don't know but give me a roast chicken or rack of deer instead."

"Don't you want to be a Stark?" Robb said.

"Aye, more than anything in the world. Let them say that Ned Stark fathered four sons, not three. But that can wait until after the war. We win or we die, and we must win first." Jon said.

Robb nodded before switching to matters of the war. "Theon has asked again to return to Pyke. As his only son, he believes he can convince Balon Greyjoy to ally with us. He says the Iron born could take Lannisport or even Casterly Rock."

"The Ironborn pillaged Lannisport but they could not keep it. And the war is not on the Sunset Sea. Our battles will be fought on the Trident, the Goldroad, or the crossroads. The Lannister fleet may have burned ten years ago but Tywin Lannister will have learned his lesson. I doubt it will go the way Theon believes." Jon said.

"What do you mean?" Robb asked.

"The Iron Fleet attacked Lannisport with surprise but the Westermen know that. They will have reinforced their defenses. So the Greyjoys may look elsewhere to reave. They may attack the Shield Islands or the Arbor or even go to Deepwood Motte." Jon said.

"Deepwood Motte? There is little of worth to plunder there. Do the Ironborn want oats and logs?" Robb asked.

"I have never quite understood the IronBorn. Instead of trading, they choose to raid and plunder. Bear Island is dirt poor and yet they still send ships one thousand miles north to attack. Balon Greyjoy is a proud stubborn man. Ten years later, he may still wish for revenge against the North." Jon said.

"And you do not think Theon can convince him?" Robb asked.

"Theon has not seen his father for a decade. If I returned home from the Citadel as a maester and asked Lord Stark to attack another lord, would he listen? And our father was far more reasonable than Balon Greyjoy." Jon said.

"Aye, I will tell Theon that he cannot go. But there is another matter to speak about. I believe that we must take the battle west. The Lannister lands are fertile and rich. With so many men in the Riverlands and King's Landing, the army could forage there." Robb said.

That was true, but Jon worried that their forces would be stretched too thin. "I will venture West but my goal is both supplies and to force Tywin to come battle us on our ground, not his. We do not need to go all the way to the Crag or Kayce. We need men in the Riverlands to bleed the Lannister army." Jon said.

"The more we weaken the heavy cavalry, the better. The Lannister army is built around the charge. We won at the Whispering Wood because their horses did not have enough space. We won at Riverrun because they had no more horses. It is likely that the Old Lion has even more knights and a much stronger force than the Kingslayer." Robb said.

"For the next moon, you need not worry. Your only concern will be bowing and curtsying to the ladies of the Reach. Perhaps Grey Wind will fall in love with the Rose of Highgarden and you will duel Renly Baratheon for Lady Margaery's hand." Jon said.

"Watch it, Snow. Or I might marry you off to the Rowans or the Redwynes for a bushel of apples or a barrel of Arbor gold." Robb said.

"The Fossoways have the apple orchards, Robb. The Rowans just have lots of trees. Although I suppose you should get what you can for a bastard's hand. I would be happy as Lord of the Hightower." Jon said with a smile.

The two brothers grinned and joked as they walked to where a crowd waited. The men at arms and Robb's guard were already mounted. Catelyn Stark sat on her horse with a look of disdain but Jon did not let that bother him. The Pipers, Vances and Glovers would dispatch a small part of their forces today to accompany Robb Stark on the ride to Acorn Hall. A much larger group would ride in the next day, with orders to begin scouring the countryside and setting up the system of messengers Jon devised.

"The ravens will go out today?" Robb asked.

"Hoster has dozens of birds ready. By this time tomorrow, the castles in the Reach and the Crownlands will hear your announcement." Jon said.

Robb nodded. "Good fortune, Snow. I will see you in a moon's time."

"Hopefully, the Reach maidens will not have stolen you away." Jon replied. The two dire wolves nipped each other and Ghost stayed at his master's side as his litter mate, Grey Wind, trotted off into the distance.

* * *

Robb relaxed as the great oaken keep of Acorn Hall rose in the distance. The castle was not that small but lacked a moat, and had only a modest courtyard. Lord Theomar had ridden next to him for much of the journey, prattling on about the history of House Smallwood. Grey Wind liked the young Lady Ravella better, but both the husband and wife seemed solid and reliable nobles, caught in a feud between the Lannisters and the Starks.

An old man in a brown robes with a patch of six brown acorns placed upside down on a yellow field rushed out with a stable boy and a house guard. "My Lord, a raven has arrived from Riverrun."

Smallwood handed over the unread letter from the panting maester. Robb opened Jon's letter, calling Joffrey an ill-born bastard and declaring that Lord Robb Stark, Warden of the North, pledged the swords of the North and the Riverlands to any who would remove the wretch from the Throne and avenge Eddard Stark. The blunt missive would be the talk of the Seven Kingdoms in the days to come, just as the two brothers planned.

"My Lord, will you do us the honor of being our guest for the evening?" Theomar Smallwood asked. The man was more than a little tedious but the ride was long and Robb wanted to inspect the nearby lands.

"That would please me, but I do not wish to tax your stores in such a time. Only a light supper, and no feasting. Lady Smallwood, would you show me where the bandits raided. I would speak to those who suffered and offer any possible aid." Robb said.

"Certainly, Lord Stark. I thank you for your kindness." the Lady said.

"There is nothing to thank, My lady. My father visited his smallfolk, and believed that they should not suffer from the games of the highborn. I only do the same." Robb replied.

He returned a few hours later, angry again at the Lannister's callous disregard for the lives of others. The wanton destruction, the rapes, the mindless cruelty - if anyone ever deserved to die screaming, it was the Mountain and his men.

At dinner, Robb sat next to the Lord Theomar and his lady mother to Lady Ravella. There were other lords at the table - an unctuous Robett Glover, a Vance cousin from Atranta, and a hungry Clement Piper. The meal was simple but filling - mutton and mushrooms, fresh brown bread, pease pudding, and onion stew washed down with ale. Lord Smallwood attempted to give him the best of each dish, but Robb insisted that Lady Smallwood and Lady Stark have the first taste. They finished with a wheel of yellow cheese before the servants cleared the plates away.

* * *

Robb gave thanks to his hosts before he turned in for the night, instructing his men to rise early the next morning. He left the hall with Grey Wind at his side, and Catelyn trailing him.

"Robb, Robb!"

He sighed. He did not look forward to this conversation. "Yes, Mother. You have not stopped scowling the entire ride from Riverrun."

"You cannot give the bastard such authority. He already is too well regarded in the North and even in the Riverlands. He may usurp your position, and cast Rickon and Bran aside. What of family and duty?" Catelyn said.

"Jon is my family. And my duty is to the men who have followed me South. They placed their lives in my hands, and I will not send them to their deaths because highborns and septas look down on bastards. I may die or be injured in battle. If so, Jon is the best leader for House Stark and the North, far better than Bran. Everyone can see that." Robb said.

"Sweetling, I hope you never feel the cruelty of losing a child. Bran is crippled, Arya is lost, and Sansa held as prisoner by Joffrey. I do not wish you to be in danger. Can you not put an end to this terrible war?" she said.

"I do not wish to die, but this is war. Boys younger than me have fallen in battle. We must avenge Father's death. House Stark will not let our lord be slain with impunity." Robb answered.

"Robb, a hundred Whispering Woods will not bring Ned back to me. And what if Joffrey kills your sister Sansa, or they discover Arya and murder her? Will you deprive me of my daughters?" Lady Catelyn said.

"I know you are suffering, Mother, and I am sorry for it. But my father did not shirk from this path. When his brother Brandon and Lord Rickard Karstark were slain, he marched South. What if Ned Stark treated with Rhaegar Targaryen and was pardoned by the Crown? How would the North view their Warden if the Rebellion ended in a truce with a Targaryen still on the throne?" Robb said.

"He would be alive, and that is nothing to scoff at." she said.

"Alive but disgraced. A king's mercy is a poisoned gift. I will not allow Joffrey and the Lannisters to spare my life and take away my hopes, dreams and honor. The Lannisters killed my father and crippled my brother. Only death can pay for life." Robb said. He wrapped his arms around her, and ignored Lady Stark's tears. "I will try not to die but in war, nothing is certain. We may win, we may lose but I know this is to be true - Jon is loyal. If I fall, he will defend our kin."

* * *

Jon stopped himself from strumming his fingers on the table. At sunrise, Chett handed to him a sealed paper, and that was of far greater import than this meeting. Still, Jon had declared that commanders meet mid morning to hear of any critical developments. He would rather the Lords be briefed quickly than rely on rumors and gossip. And he had dispatched Ghost west. The great white wolf was his most reliable ally, and bonded deeply to his master. The dire wolves were a gift of the old Gods to House Stark. HIs thoughts drifted back to the meeting when he heard the words of the Bracken representative.

"And we have taken back Stone Hedge. Lord Bracken, with the assistance of the Karstarks and the Vances thrashed the remaining Lannister stragglers." Jon was not sure the name of the boy who spoke. There was a Hendry Bracken and a Harry Rivers. Both had the thick shoulders, coarse brown hair, and burly build of the blustery Jonos Bracken.

"And did we suffer many losses in liberating your home?" Jon asked politely.

"No, Ser. We outnumbered them and the sight of the many North banners caused them to flee East. We have posted lookouts on the hills near the castle." the Bracken boy said.

Stone Hedge was half the distance between Riverrun and Harroway, sitting only a few miles south of the Riverroad and the Red Fork. "Lord Bracken has done yeoman's work in securing the castle." Jon said to the pleased Bracken and the displeased Blackwoods. In truth, the praise was overstated given the substantial reinforcements provided but the stronghold was critical to controlling the Riverroad. That road and the Trident would determine any battle.

"Maester, a raven came this morning from Stony Sept." Hoster Blackwood said. "It is from Lord Stark, and it says that their travels have been safe. The Rivermen with the help of the Glovers and the Flints are quickly securing those areas."

"Did Robb say anything about the Gold Road?" Jon asked. The Gold Road marked the border between the Reach and the Riverlands before climbing North to Lannisport.

"No, Maester Snow. But he would not cross for a few hours more." Hoster replied.

"Send ravens to the Pipers and any loyal knights in Stony Sept. They should watch the Gold Road carefully to make sure no troops or supplies move." Jon said to the boy's nod.

"Brynden Tully's men are also in position. They have begun to raid and poach horses." Brynden Blackwood said.

"Steal horses? Pfah. When will we fight, Snow? We need to take the battle to Tywin. I say we send longships down the Trident to attack Harroway." Theon Greyjoy said.

"We don't have longships. And even if we did, the Lannister scouts would see them coming miles away." Jon did not need to mention that the Northmen were not trained to fight from ships. Only the Flints of Widow's Watch and the Manderlys had any skills at sailing.

"Not if we sailed at night, and attacked at dawn. If we took them by surprise, we could burn their wagons and kill many men." Theon insisted.

"Always thinking like an ironborn." Patrek Mallister sneered.

"That doesn't make it a bad plan. But we do not have the ships." Jon said.

"Bah. Why are we staying behind stone walls, sitting on our arses? We should be out fighting, putting castles to the torch!" Theon cried.

"We are fighting, Greyjoy. The Pipers and the Vances are clearing the South. We are moving men east to control the Riverroad. We need to prepare the battleground first. And the only castle to put to the torch would be Harrenhal. Good luck on that. The walls are incredibly thick and much of the castle has already burned." Jon said.

* * *

When the meeting ended, Jon was stopped by Edmure. The Tully Heir had recovered physically from his imprisonment but no longer smiled and japed. Then again, his father was rattling on the death bed, rambling about events and people long ago.

"Do you think he is right, Snow? That we should be out in the field." he asked.

Edmure wanted to know if he should be fighting, Jon thought. Restoring the good name of the Tullys was clearly top on his mind. "There is a time to sow and a time to reap. We are not ready yet to bring the battle to the main Lannister host." Jon said.

"I need to do something to prove myself! They whisper that I lost Riverrun." Edmure said.

"You did lose Riverrun." Jon replied.

"Am I to bear that shame for the rest of my days?" He cried.

"Denying the truth is pointless. You lost one battle - but there is still a war to fight. Riverrun is enormously valuable - as a command center, as a defense point, and as a symbol to the Rivermen that the Lannisters have not won." Jon said.

"I would like to contribute something besides my place of birth." Edmure said.

"Then wait for the right moment. Charging into battle like a berserker sounds exciting but raiding is not war. The Ironborn cannot hold land. You care much about your smallfolk. Fighting over their fields back and forth will only increase their misery. Better to strike once and bring down the lions for good." Jon said.

"I am not a wolf, but I want revenge on the Lannisters just as much as you." Edmure said.

"And you will have it Ser. But you must wait." Jon said.

* * *

That afternoon, Jon sat in a small room near the ravenry, sealed away from prying eyes. Robb had taken the Riverrun solar for his own but Jon was not the grandson of Lord Tully. Besides the solar was a poor place to hide. Jon reached out for Ghost and his mind left his body for his bonded wolf.

The river road became rocky as it entered hill country. The air turned crisp and cool as the mountains loomed before him. Ghost's sharp eyes could see the blue and gold flag of the Tooth fluttering in the wind. The castle was small but stood stoutly on the mountains, the circular towers commanding views of any who approached. Ghost sniffed a familiar smell. Goats. A herd of goats passed through recently but the scent dipped down, and away from the castle. Were these wild goats? Or had a shepherd wished to avoid the seat of House Lefford?

He heard a knock on the door and voices outside. He was not sure how vulnerable his human body was when he warged. He stood up, and opened the door. Gerion was quarreling with Aysha, much to Satin's dismay. "Argue in the room, not outside where others can hear." Jon said, motioning for the three to sit.

Gerry marched in with his head raised high, as proud as any boy of ten and two could be. He started immediately. "I want to join you when you leave Riverrun."

Jon raised his eyebrows. He had given several orders in the last few hours, but nothing that would have clearly betrayed his plans.

"Gerry, you are too young to go to war. Too many have died already." Aysha said.

"I want to fight for you Mother, to get revenge for what the Lannisters did. Let me prove that I am brave, like my father before he died." Gerry's words struck his mother dumb, and she could only weep. Satin sat uncomfortably at her side.

Jon wondered if Gerry read much of the Dance of Dragons. Joffrey Velayron had said nearly the same words to Queen Rhaenyra after his two brothers had been slain. He had offered to fly his dragon in battle against his enemies. He had died at the age of ten and three. "Why do you think I will leave the castle?" Jon asked.

"The forge is no longer making plate armor and swords. The orders have changed to spear shafts, and axe handles with long spikes." Gerry said.

"Swords are good in close battle but against a cavalry, a wall of spears and halberds works better. But it will take weeks to produce enough weapons." Jon said.

"The guard has been changed around the keep. The Mormonts have been replaced, and you would not order that unless you moved the prisoners." Gerry said.

"Jaime and Kevan Lannister are staying at Riverrun. And as for the Mormonts, they have been guarding prisoners for several weeks. I trust Winterfell and Tully men also." Jon said.

"Satin told me you asked him to pack some of your supplies for healing." Gerry said brazenly.

"Gerry, that was a secret." Satin hissed.

"You should have mentioned that first. You are right. I am on the move, and you missed the most significant clue. Ghost is no longer at the maidenvault or by my side. You do not need to leave the castle. There is much you can for for the war at Riverrun. Satin will oversee the forge. Hoster Blackwood will work with the ravens. You do not need to come with me." Jon said.

"Maester Snow, I want to fight. Let me join the Wintertown boys. I am certain you will ask them to accompany you." Gerry said.

"Not all of them, but Chett and Clydas will. And yes, in battle, I will need as many helping hands as possible." Jon turned to Aysha. "I will try to keep him safe. He will stay by my side or in the shadows. I am careful with my men."

"Thank you, my lord." Gerry said with glee, holding his mother's hand.

Jon shook his head. "Nothing in war is certain, and you are too eager for battle. These are your first orders." Jon handed Satin and Gerry a list of names. "Gather these people. Tell them I wish to meet in the solar when the sun sets."

* * *

Jon waited until they assembled to speak. These were the men and women that he trusted most - Lady Mormont and her daughters, Eddard Karstark who had pledged his axe, Smalljon Umber, the Manderly brothers, and the crannogmen. At the last minute, he had written Edmure Tully's name. If Hoster died, Edmure would be Lord of Riverrun. He or his uncle, Brynden, would need to know the plans and the Blackfish was far east, raiding behind the Lannister lines.

"My Lords and Ladies, we have news. Tywin Lannister has begun training fresh recruits in the Westerlands." Jon said. He had received a message from Reynard that Ser Melwyn Sarsfield pressed him to train with a new Lannister army.

"How many, Maester Snow?" Maege Mormont asked.

"I do not know the number. But it makes sense. Tywin may have heard rumors of the Tyrells declaring for Renly. His army is larger than ours but he will want to replenish the losses suffered at Riverrun. He may also need to defend his borders against the Reach." Jon said.

"So do we prepare defenses and watch for an attack from the West? Tywin means to attack us on two fronts, then." Wylis Manderly asked.

"We won't allow that. We will bring the war to them when the recruits are still green and poorly trained. There may be a way to cross into the Westerlands and avoid the Tooth. Have your men ready to leave tomorrow. A smaller quicker force would be better." Jon said.

"You mean to attack with stealth?" Maege asked. Jon nodded.

"Most of the Karstarks have headed west but I have a hundred loyal men at arms still at Riverrun." Eddard said. The Smalljon could bring twice that number, and the Manderlys pledged the bulk of their troops. Their combined numbers were too small, but he wanted to move quickly, without alerting the enemy.

"Where are the Lannister forces gathering?" Dacey asked.

"A small village called Oxcross. Only fifty miles from the Tooth." Jon said.

* * *

Robb slowed down the horses when they saw the ancient stone bridge that crossed the Mander river. After crossing the Gold Road, they followed the Rose Road down to the Reach. Even from a distance, he could make out thousands of tents and the tell tale signs of siege weapons, the long wooden arms and buckets sticking out like a sore thumb. They could not see the castle but as they drew closer to Bitterbridge, they encountered many wagons on the road, carrying merchants, victuals, and entertainers. A troupe of dwarven mummers made rude remarks as Robb and his men passed them on the road.

"Should we announce our arrival? There is an inn nearby. We could ask for messengers or send your squire to Renly." Catelyn asked. "No, I want to approach them first." Robb said. "If you would like to rest, mother, you can."

Robb set forth with the six members of his battleguard. Early in the trip, they had hidden any signs of their houses. Grey Wind was an obvious hint, but the dire wolf tracked his master at a distance, the smoke grey fur blending into the deepening shadows.

The town was alive with people, hundreds of smallfolk, merchants, and oddities like jugglers and wandering septons. They were lost in the dozens of great pavilions, bearing the sigils of the Reach and the Stormlands. The splendour of the proceedings dwarfed the games at Riverrun, and everywhere, Robb saw the new banner for Renly Baratheon, a rampant stag in Tyrell colors of gold and green.

"He hasn't posted any guards." Robb said surprised. They had wandered the grounds undisturbed for half an hour, marveling at the number of houses present. The Tyrell sigil was most prominent but there were blazons for House Rowan, Tarly, Caron, Tarth, Penrose, Fossoway, Estermont, Hightower, and dozens more.

"I see at least ten thousand tents. And that does not count men in the castle and peasant levies sleeping outside in the fair weather." Patrek Mallister said.

"Still, a small force could easily ambush and kill hundreds. They might not get to Renly but they could get away in this chaos." Robb mused.

They came at last to a clearing where a handsome man in green and gold was seated next to a slender and comely girl with soft brown hair and large brown eyes. Judging from the crown on the man's head, these must be Renly Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell. The would be king wore a diadem with antlers of gold and a splendid, almost garish, set of golden armor. Robb was struck more by the five knights guarding Renly. They bore striped silk cloaks with different colors. The raiment was pretty, he supposed, but quite useless in battle.

Two figures fought in the middle of the ring in front of the king and queen. The first was quick and nimble, with roses festooning his helm and even more flowers on his cloak. The breastplate of the silver armor was a riot of colors - sapphire, green, gold and black. The other was much taller, wearing dark gray steel plate and bearing a heavy sword. The two were well matched, with quickness offset by size and strength. Finally, the giant warrior got close enough to tackle the other. Once the two warriors were on the ground, the result was plain to all. The flower knight, Loras Tyrell, yielded.

The tall warrior doffed off the steel great helm. It was a woman, with short brittle straw colored hair, a wide mouth, and a nose that had been broken before. Brienne of Tarth looked like a cross between Dacey Mormont and Smalljon Umber, Robb thought, but there was no doubt that she was a capable warrior. She asked for a place in the Rainbow Guard, a request granted readily by Renly who dubbed her Brienne the Blue and handed her a striped silk cloak.

Robb would have left but a tall broad shouldered man walked over to the queen and pointed a finger in his direction. He wondered if Garlan Tyrell had recognized him or whether it is one of the other Reach knights at the tourney. Two others in the stand scrutinized him carefully, a dark brown haired man with a crippled leg and very small old woman with white hair. They wore expensive cloths of green and gold.

Robb strode forth, the six men of the North and the Riverlands following closely. Brienne and Loras turned, and unsheathed their swords. Ser Garlan spoke quickly to the king and Renly signalled a lackey who rushed forward.

"Halt, you stand in the presence of Renly of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. Master of Storm's End." the man blared.

The crowd was silent until Olyvar Frey was pushed ahead by Lucas Blackwood. His squire cleared his throat, and said "This is Robb Stark. He is the Young Wolf."

**Author's Note**

In a world where Robb was betrothed for a bridge, Arya sold to a Frey, Sansa a prize for Baelish, the Boltons, Tyrion and the Tyrells, why did Stannis reject a match for Shireen? In the prologue to Clash of Kings, Maester Cressen suggests a betrothal with Sweetrobin to secure the Vale. Certainly Lysa Arryn might have been too under the thumb of Littlefinger for that to work, but Stannis didn't know that. Before the wildfire trick, he was portrayed as an unloved but fearsome warrior and commander. The Starks with their sense of justice would be the most likely of the great houses to support Stannis on the throne. As for greyscale, if Shireen is barren, then Stannis needs a replacement anyway. If she can have kids, a grandson would make his claim stronger. And while it is a bit icky to marry off 10 years olds, in the books, Myrcella was the same age and shipped to Dorne, where they hate Lannisters. Oberyn Martell shrieking that we do not kill children in Dorne was a rather painful foreshadowing.

As for horses and food, the dietary requirements are probably even greater than 25 pounds a day. There are plenty of articles about World War I, and the Civil War - where the horses are literally close to starving. Horses were rationed to 20 pounds a day on the Continent. That was 25% less than what they were fed in Britain and the horses were so hungry they tried to eat wagon wheels. In fact, by the end of the war, the British used a lot more mules because mules were tough enough to go without eating much.

"Hunger will win our battles more easily than swords." I am pretty sure I read a quote by Julius Caesar saying these words - unfortunately I can't find it in the histories. Caesar, with the superior command structure of the Roman Army, was excellent at logistics. In fact, he devised a similar system of fast messengers to transport news of his victories from Gaul to Rome.

One odd thing about Westeros is where exactly do the Ironborn reave. I know, I know - the Ironborn supposedly have given up the Old Ways since the Greyjoy rebellion failed. But if they were still raiding, where would they raid? It seems extremely unlikely that Tywin Lannister, after the humiliation of losing his fleet, would not have his castles and towns on the Sunset Sea well prepared. The Vikings were successful raiding England for a few hundred years but the Westerlands and the Reach are wealthier and much more organized militarily. England was vulnerable because it was full of a bunch of petty kings - akin to Westeros before Aegon's Conquest. That is not the case now. Why would anybody raid Bear Island? I know the Ironborn do in the books, but the land is poor, full of warriors and far away in the North. It is poetic because you know the Mormonts are tough, but as a practical idea, it seems really dumb.

I have never liked Catelyn much as a character but she certainly has my sympathy. She is desperate to see that her family is safe. That desperation turns into tragedy when she really miscalculates in releasing Jaime but she is a grieving wife and mother. It makes me think of a quote in a historical fantasy on Rome. Someone explained to Julius Caesar's niece, that as a Roman matron, she should expect half of her male relatives to die violently.

_"A king's mercy is a poisoned gift. Daeron Targaryen left me life, but took my pride and dreams and honor."_ This is a quote from Eustace Osgrey in **The Sworn Shield**. He supported Daemon Blackfyre and that rebellion ended quite badly. GRRM does an excellent job of showing that people were often damned no matter what side they chose. By the standards of Westeros, a great warrior who carried Blackfyre in battle doesn't seem an unreasonable choice. Daeron may have made peace with Dorne and been a friend of maesters but Daemon appeared to be a true dragon. GRRM says he looked a lot like Aegon the Conqueror.

A yeoman is a rich farmer with large houses just below the level of gentry. Why the term "yeoman's work" meant good hard work is not clear to me. Perhaps it is because yeomans fought and trained with weapons. I have seen references to yeoman archers (longbows) and guards for lords in battle. I wonder if it is derived from housecarls in the Viking world.

Weapon development over the ages is interesting. Jon is now making spears and axe shafts for pikes and halberds. The sword is more iconic but the truth is that infantry used spears a lot more. It was cheaper, easier to train, and better in massed formations. But Valyrian steel swords are all the rage. Only the oddball Oberyn uses the spear in hand to hand combat. Weapons and combat tactics will matter more in the upcoming battles in the Riverlands.


	17. The North Strikes Back

**The North Strikes Back**

The Valyrian steel dagger glittered next to the candles on the oak table, the distinctive rippled patterns a mark of the superior quality of the plain blade. The black dragonbone hilt had no guard but a bright red ruby in the center and notches for a better grip.

"This is why we are at war with the Lannisters." Robb said to the intense curiosity of all in the chamber.

Lord Lorent Caswell, a wispy young man with a bowl cut and a weak pinched face, had given the best rooms of the castle to the would be king. Renly retreated from the tourney to Bitterbridge with the Tyrells to meet with the Northmen privately. He had graciously offered to house Robb and his men in the small keep, but Robb declined and asked only to send his squire to alert his Lady Mother. After Catelyn Stark arrived out of breath, the men from the Reach and the Stormlands gathered in the solar.

Renly Baratheon took the lord's chair with his dainty wife and fat good father seated next to him. Robb and his mother were given chairs opposite Renly, and offered silver platters of melons, fireplums, pomegranates and blood oranges. There were other Tyrells there - a smiling Garlan, a suspicious Loras, and a quiet Willas who stood with a cane. Willas, the Heir of Highgarden, supported his grandmother, a wizened lady with white hair and sharp eyes. All the Tyrells wore green velvet trimmed with sable, and a gold mantle over green. There were a few other nobles in the room - a lean balding man in mail with a short bristly grey beard, a genial salt and pepper haired man with a green apple on his doublet, and a stout clean shaven man in the colors of white and gold. Lord Caswell was nowhere to be seen.

Robb continued. "My brother Brandon was pushed out of a window. He was crippled because he saw the Kingslayer fornicating with Cersei. And then Joffrey Baratheon hired an assassin to kill him. We found it in Bran's room after his wolf killed the man."

"We heard that Lady Stark accused Tyrion Lannister of the crime and that the Imp was declared innocent in a trial by combat at the Eyrie." Olenna Tyrell said to Catelyn's embarrassment.

"My brother Jon believes that Joffrey is guilty. When Lady Stark brought the dagger to King's Landing, Petyr Baelish told her that Tyrion Lannister won the dagger from him on a bet. We believe he was lying." Robb said.

"We do not know whether Petyr was telling the truth or not." Catelyn said cautiously.

Renly picked up the Valyrian dagger and examined it carefully. "He lied. Robert won this blade from Baelish during the tourney on Joffrey's twelfth name day. I told my brother to bet on Loras Tyrell in the joust. Loras defeated Jaime Lannister in the final tilt, much to Tywin's displeasure." "But... why would Petyr lie?" Catelyn said, her face pale.

"Baelish is a whoremonger. And a man who clearly uses tricks to steal crowns from the Iron Throne. Why would he not lie?" Olenna said.

"Who cares about a coin counter? Lord Stark, have you come to swear yourself to our grace, King Renly?" Mace Tyrell asked pompously.

"The North has made its position clear. We will pledge loyalty to anyone who gives us justice." Robb said.

"And you shall have it. We march to King's Landing. A new day will dawn, where honor and justice will reign in the Seven Kingdoms." Renly said.

Robb had seen no signs of any marching from the vast army at Bitterbridge, who seemed more than happy to enjoy the tourney and sit on their arses. "How long will that take?"

"We expect to be there in four to five months time." Mace said cheerfully.

Travelling from the Reach to King's Landing would normally take less than a month. A fast horse might do it in two weeks. Robb wondered if Renly planned to feast at every town on the Rose Road. "Why not attack Tywin Lannister instead? Defeat him and the Iron Throne falls."

"And how do you expect to defeat Tywin? Harrenhal is a strong castle with thick walls, and tall towers. We would lose thousands of men in any attempt." The unpleasant balding man said.

"You must forgive Lord Tarly, but he is a blunt man and focused on war." Renly chuckled.

"The North is also focused on war. We have been fighting actual battles." Robb paused before announcing his plan. "The Reach shares a border with the Westerlands. Send your men to attack from the South. We will attack from the East. Together we can crush the Lannisters."

"But how would that defeat Lord Tywin? He is in the Riverlands." A befuddled Mace said.

Garlan tried to not roll his eyes. "If the Westerlands are sacked, Tywin has no choice. He will never let Casterly Rock fall. Lord Stark means to ambush him when he returns west."

"It is a good idea." Tarly said begrudgingly. "The West is stretched too thin, and Tywin Lannister could have to cross Riverrun or head far south to return."

"Your grace, I believe the Stark plan has merit. I would be happy to lead such a raid." The speaker was a stout man in a white doublet with a tree stitched in gold thread. That was the sigil of the Rowans of Goldengrove, one of the most powerful families in the Reach.

"You? I am the Master of War. I should lead the invasion." Randyll Tarly shouted.

"And I am the Master of Law. Goldengrove is closest to the Westerlands. My men are familiar with the land, and can strike at Crakehall and Silver Hill in two days' ride." Rowan replied firmly.

"Let us not squabble. As Hand of the King, I forbid it." Mace said oblivious to Tarly's venomous glare. "Lord Stark, the army is already set on our path. We march north east on the Rose Road, so all of the Reach and the Stormlands can see our splendor."

"You can have your splendor. But if you diverted ten thousand swords and horses, you would have the Westerlands. Long before your parade reached King's Landing." Robb said.

"My boy, it is imperative that our army stays united. In the Battle of Ashford, where I defeated Robert Baratheon, it was the size of the Tyrell host that forced the rebels to flee." Mace droned.

Robb marvelled at how dense the Lord of Highgarden was. After the Battle of Ashford, the Army of the Reach marched to Storm's End where they were useless for the rest of the war. Had the Tyrells engaged Robert for longer, Targaryen loyalists could have separated the men of the Stormlands from the army of the North and the Vale. The Rebellion would have failed. "A small force can defeat a larger one with speed and surprise." Robb said.

Mace chortled, the rolls of fat on his neck jiggling. "And what examples do you have of such a thing? In my experience with war -"

Robb interrupted Lord Tyrell. "I captured the Kingslayer at the Whispering Wood, I broke the siege at Riverrun, and I won with a broken bridge. In every battle, the North had less men."

"Your grace, I believe we should consider Lord Stark's plan." Mathis Rowan said, ignoring Tarly's stony gaze.

"Your grace, the Small Council will meet tonight. As your Hand, I will discuss the issue with your loyal and steadfast advisors." Mace said.

"Very good, my Lord Hand. I trust you will inform me after your discussion. Lord Stark, if you swear fealty, there may be a place for you on the Council." Renly said, smiling.

Robb could not think of anything he wanted less.

* * *

Robb stood on the ancient stone bridge, overlooking the Mander River. Night had fallen and the stands were empty, with the men supping in the castle walls. Robb was astounded that the Renly and his Lords was not concerned with the task of feeding fifty thousand mouths for the four month march to King's Landing. Jon had been concerned about the state of supplies at Riverrun for an army half that size. The Reach, watered by the immense river Mander and its many tributaries, was blessed with fertile soil but so were the Riverlands.

Bitterbridge had earned the name for immense bloodshed near this small town. Nine thousand Poor Fellows had been slaughtered by the forces of Maegor the Cruel, making the Mander run red for dozens of miles. Smallfolk in boiled leather armed with sharpened sticks and wood axes faced knights in steel. Robb had no great sympathy for the Faith Militant but it was a plain massacre. And there had been more senseless killings in Bitterbridge. A mob murdered a three year old Targaryen prince in the Dance of the Dragons. In retaliation, his uncle burnt the entire town down with dragonfire. The scorch marks could still be seen on the stone bridge.

"Will you join us for dinner, Lord Robb?" Margaery Tyrell said. She wore a pale green samite gown under a darker green cloak of white flowers made of seed pearls. Robb was painfully aware of her bare shoulders and her slender neck.

Her grandmother stood in the background, a frown on her old, pursed lips. Her dress was equally fine but her wrinkled skin was thankfully covered. "Are you spying on our army?" The Queen of Thorns demanded.

"No, my Lady. As for spying, I will leave that up to Ser Garlan." Robb jested. "I am looking for Grey Wind, my dire wolf. He disappeared when we walked about the tourney ground."

"Even in the Reach, we have heard much about the dire wolves. They say your beasts can tear out the throats of men and horses alike." Margaery said.

"They are not beasts. Grey Wind is my companion, and he is no danger to anyone who means me no harm. His pack mate Ghost is the same." Robb said.

"I mean no offense, my Lord. In truth, I sought you out." Margaery said shyly. "I thought your plan intriguing but Renly wishes to hear the opinions of his advisors. My father spends much time assembling his Small Council. I hope you do not take offense."

"You need not worry, my Lady." Robb replied, even as he thought Renly odd for being a stag drowning in roses. He turned to Olenna. "And did you seek me out as well?"

The old lady snorted. "I am here to prevent you from despoiling my granddaughter."

"Grandmother!" Margaery said in shock.

"Oh stop with the outrage. We have heard stories of Northmen - savages who steal women away at the blink of an eye. Cregan Stark demanded a Blackwood wife and a Targaryen princess for his family. Else he would make war on the South." Olenna said.

"Alysanne Blackwood chose to go North. And I would not steal a married woman." Robb said. "My father taught his children to behave with honor."

"Yes, the noble Eddard Stark. Tell me, what is your goal down South? What do you mean to do with the Iron Throne?" Olenna said sharply.

"Pardon, my Lady?" Robb felt like he had missed something important.

"When the Rebellion ended, three men could have claimed the throne - Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn, and your father. Jon Arryn was no warrior and already old. Ned Stark arrived first at King's Landing. Had your father wanted, he could have sat on the Iron Throne. Baratheon would have been fine with getting drunk and whoring himself into an early grave. You would be the crown prince. Do you regret that?" Olenna asked.

"Lady Olenna, my father was a good man - honorable, just, loyal to his friends and brave against his enemies. If I ruled the North half as well as he did, I would be pleased. My Lord Father never desired a crown. He was content as the Stark in Winterfell. " Robb said.

The old lady exchanged a look with her grand daughter. "You are certainly too honest for the South, my Lord. Here, we must smile and jape and say words that we do not mean. I am too old for such follies." Olenna said.

"You must forgive my grandmother. She worries about my royal husband." Margaery threaded her arm through his as they walked on the bridge. Olenna and her two giant guards followed, and Robb noticed that the old lady did not use a cane. "She thinks that even with an army as vast and gallant as the Reach and the Stormlands, Renly is over confident."

"Any army can be defeated. Victory in war is not determined by courage or numbers. The Kingslayer's men were no less brave than mine, but they still died. Battle is not won at the feast hall or the tourney grounds, despite the boasts of men." Robb said.

"Who commands your troops, Robb, now that you are here in the Reach? The Blackfish or one of your bannermen?" Margaery asked.

"My brother, Jon Snow. He leads the North and the Rivermen in my name." Robb said.

"I am sure your brother is good and kind. But what of your bannermen? Do they complain that he is your father's natural son?" Margaery asked.

"You can say the word bastard." Robb said amused. "My bannermen can grouse as they wish, but I am Lord of Winterfell. I have a duty to my men, to lead them through danger. I trust no one more than Jon in this regard. Men die in war, but he will not squander lives without reason. The North does not have the numbers and wealth of the Reach."

A lean smoke grey dire wolf bounded on the bridge followed by a dark haired dark eyed woman in a simple gray dress. She was pretty but long of face, and her skin between the white of the Reach and the olive of Dorne. She looked at Grey Wind with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"Is that your wolf, Ser?" she asked.

"Grey Wind." Robb scolded. He leaned over, and took a roll of cloth from the wolf's jaws. The linen had been torn in several pieces and coated with drool. "I am sorry, my lady."

"I am no lady. Merely a healer." she said, as she placed the cloth into her doeskin bag. Margaery Tyrell was more comely and had a sweeter smile but there was an energy and vibrancy to this dark skinned girl. Robb could see specks of blood and dirt on her hands, and he wondered if that had been from the jousts or the melee at the tourney.

"You certainly are a lady. This is Lady Talisa Maegyr. She is a noblewoman from Volantis who was refused admittance by the Citadel. Archmaester Ebrose says that she is a truly gifted healer." Margaery said.

"He said I had adequate knowledge of medicine, for a beginner. But Maester Ebrose would have taken me on as an apprentice, had the Conclave not protested. He did not care that I was a woman. But I thank your grace for the kind words." Talisa smiled at Margaery.

"I am Robb Stark, Lord of.." he said.

"I could tell, my Lord. Who else would have a dire wolf?" Talisa snarked. Grey Wind's ears pricked up, and he approached Talisa again. She stood her ground, only holding her bag too high for his curious nose.

"My brother, Jon. He is a skilled healer. After the Whispering Wood, he healed dozens of men in a single night." Robb said.

"One man alone?" Talisa asked skeptically.

"Aye, he healed both our men and Lannister knights. Jon studied at the Citadel. Mayhap you would care to meet him." Robb said.

"Mayhap, I will." Talisa said. Neither Grey Wind nor Robb saw the smile on Margaery's face as the Tyrells walked back to the castle.

* * *

The sun had barely risen when Jon led the forces from Riverrun. It was a small host, only a few thousand on horses. Even though the men and women were mounted, many were not true cavalry. Some were skirmishers armed with javelins and spears. Others rode to combat, but then dismounted to fight. The Manderly forces included more heavily armored lancers but the older Manderly brother would follow in the next few days with reinforcements. Jon was rushing to the border to rejoin Ghost. The dire wolf discovered a goat track that wound down a narrow gorge into open country. It was crooked and windy but looked wide enough to ride single file. If they could pass without the notice of the Golden Tooth, then Jon would launch a morning raid. Otherwise, they would wait for greater forces before they attacked, to defend their flanks.

That morning, Jon rode next to the surprisingly garrulous Stevron Frey. Despite vows of secrecy by those attending the meeting, the Riverlanders had ferreted out the expedition West. Lady Mormont advised taking on a small number now and having the rest march with Wylis. The Riverlanders were eager to redeem themselves and the Battle of the Camps only whetted their appetite for glory. Even there, with the exception of the Blackwoods and a few Frey knights, the Rivermen had only been charged with mopping up the stragglers.

Ned Stark taught his sons that a good lord needed to know his men. On the march from Winterfell, Robb had done that, speaking with a different lord every morning and afternoon, lending his ears and a ready smile. Neither his father nor Robb had to deal with a Frey, Jon thought sourly. Stevron may have been more tolerable than Ryman or Hosteen, fortunately absent from the ride, but he still prattled on about squires, betrothals, and greater ties between House Frey and the North.

"Maester Snow, I hope my grandchildren will be fostered at Winterfell." Stevron said.

Jon grimaced, thinking of Edwyn, a thick witted fool, and Black Walder who was even worse. "I cannot speak for my brother Robb on this matter." Jon said.

"It must be a great joy being fostered in the North. Winterfell is said to be a fine castle."

"There are other places in the North that your descendants can be fostered at. My Lord Father considered Bear Island for my sister, Arya, to foster with the Mormonts." Jon said.

"Bear Island.. Isn't that place rather poor?" Stevron exclaimed.

"It is rich in bears." Jon chuckled. "Bear Island does not have to be poor. It has timber. But they have only fishing boats because the presence of the Ironborn discourages trade."

"And how would you change that? The Iron Born will not move from their rocks." Stevron said.

"Shipbuilding. You could build ships and sail them down to Blazewater Bay and up the Fever River to Moat Cailin. Then you could transport them to White Harbor. There is a great demand for ships in Braavos. More ships in White Harbor means greater trade with Essos." Jon said.

"But Moat Cailin is one hundred miles away from the Narrow sea. How could you move a ship over land, Ser?" Stevron asked.

"I could build a canal. The Neck already has water and swamps. You could cut a path through there, wide and deep enough for a single ship to be pulled to the Bite. House Mormont could sell ships to White Harbour and the Three Sisters. You can even take those ships and explore the Shivering Sea. Bear Island could become as rich as White Harbour." Jon said.

A startled Stevron gasped and excused himself. Jon chortled when he saw the elderly Frey knight catching up to Lady Maege.

"Why is that weasel talking to Mama Bear?" Jory demanded.

"He wants his grandsons to be fostered at Bear Island. No doubt he means to get a betrothal with a lovely Mormont lady." Jon japed to an outraged Lyra and Jory.

"Well if he sends one of these Big, Little, or Medium Walders to Bear Island, we will send him fishing on the Frozen Shore. The boy will get eaten by wildlings." Lyra said.

"Ser Stevron is not so bad. He may be greedy and care too much about his blood, but he is far better than Black Walder and some of the other sons." Dacey said.

"Snow, some of the men are wondering how you plan to cross the Tooth. They wonder if you will cast a spell to darken the sky or use glamors to disguise us as Westermen." Jory said.

"If I wanted the sky to darken, I would just wait for the sun to set. I know how to cross the Tooth. I am more concerned about other things." Jon said.

"Like what? Avoiding the Rivermen and the Freys?" Dacey said.

Jon shook his head. He would live up to his responsibilities as Robb's proxy even if it meant speaking to Freys, Goodbrooks, Charltons and Rygers. "Gerry. Bring the parchment over."

The boy handed Jon a crude drawing with castles, rivers, and mountains. A large black X marked the village of Oxcross. "This is a map of the Westerlands. Besides the Golden Tooth, and Silver Hill to the South, every major settlement is closer to the Sunset Sea then the border with the Riverlands. So why Oxcross? Most knights live in castles on the water. Most smallfolk live near Lannisport. Why should they train at this small village?" Jon said.

"They have to train far away from the cities." Gerry said.

Jon raised his eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"Because if the Lannisters are forcing people into the army, they can't be near Lannisport. The smallfolk would just run away." Gerry said. The Mormonts were shocked. Even in the North, there were deserters, but they were few and swiftly beheaded as cravens.

"Correct, Gerry. Stafford Lannister is recruiting for a new army. So he needs to find a place far away from cities and castles. But he chose a village only 40 miles away from the Tooth. Why?" Jon asked.

"The Tooth is closest to the Riverlands. He can march from Oxcross to Riverrun." Lyra said.

Jon shook his head. "The new army is green. It will be weeks, maybe even months before they are ready."

"Oxcross is 40 miles away. On horseback, he could be there in two hours. Stafford Lannister must be visiting the Tooth. Far enough that the smallfolk could not run, but close enough for a knight with fresh horses." Gerry thought out loud.

"Correct again. There is something at the Golden Tooth - something important." Jon said. Initially, he had thought of food stores but Stafford Lannister was not in charge of supplies for the Lannister army. That was Leo Lefford's responsibility.

"Snow, you mean to attack the Golden Tooth. You are not just going after this camp at Oxcross. But it is a strong castle with commanding views. Even a small garrison can repel large armies. You will not be able to take it by surprise." Dacey said.

"If I am right, I won't need surprise to crack the Tooth." Jon smiled grimly.

* * *

Robb had never feasted so well or been so utterly bored. If kingship was measured by the splendour of victuals and raiments, Renly would surpass Aegon the Conqueror and Jaehaerys the Conciliator combined. For every dinner, the Tyrells had venison, roast boar and honey cakes baked with blackberries and nuts, washed down by a golden vintage of the best Arbor wine. At this rate, Renly would be fatter than the late Robert Baratheon or even worse, Mace.

Robb found the Tyrells an odd mixture of gallantry and greed. There was a lot of pretty words, fancy etiquette and complex table settings at meals. But there was little action. He was not sure whether the fault lied with the bickering Small Council, or directly with Renly Baratheon. There were three Tyrells on the Small Council - Mace, Hand of the King, Loras, Lord Commander of the Rainbow Guard, and Willas, Master of Ships. But there were four other Lords - Eldon Estermont, Mathis Rowan, Jon Fossoway, and Randyll Tarly. The Small Council could not agree on the invasion of the Westerlands. Many thought Robb's idea sound but Mace Tyrell did not want either Tarly, Rowan or Fossoway to take the glory of any success.

On several nights, Robb sat next to Talisa at dinner. Robb was no fool. The healer was pretty and capable, with a kind heart. Not many noble women would give up comfortable lives of dances and masquerades to work on the battlefield. He was intrigued by the dark haired lady from Volantis. But Robb was well aware that Margaery favored this match, and Robb could not see why. Perhaps Lady Maegyr owed some loyalty to the Tyrells. She did not strike him as a spy but then Jon said the best spies hide in plain sight.

Robb sighed as he took a bite of the freshly baked lemon tarts served with the cheese plate. It was too sweet, like many things in the Reach. He had neither the patience nor the skill for these palace intrigues. He preferred to ride in battle, or to hunt in the woods with Grey Wolf. Even losing in cyvasse by Jon would be better. At least then, they could drink some good Northern ale afterwards. Jon complimented Robb's tactical skills but said he was shit at long term strategy. Unfortunately, getting allies was more of the second.

"Perhaps your sisters will visit the Reach, Lord Stark. Willis would be happy to host them at Highgarden" Mace Tyrell said.

The Heir to Highgarden raised his eyebrows. "Father, I believe we need to rescue them from King's Landing first."

"Did you see my sisters at the Capital, your grace?" Robb asked.

"I saw your sisters at a Tourney, but not more than that. They were staying in the Tower of the Hand." Renly said.

"And when you fled the capital, did you offer to take them? Or help Lord Stark send them to safety." Robb asked, ignoring his mother's imploring gaze.

Renly put down his silver dessert spoon. "Your father certainly planned to send Lady Arya and Sansa to safety, but I do not know what went wrong. When he told me he would confront the Queen, I warned them that the Lannisters had far more men. I told him to seize the royal children that night. If he held the children, particularly Joffrey, he would have held the Throne."

"But you still fled King's Landing." Robb said in an accusing tone.

"I would have been locked into the Black Cells with your father. I had one hundred Baratheon men and your father had less than two dozen guards. The Lannisters had at least three hundred redcloaks. And there was the City Watch. The gold cloaks go where the gold is, and the Lannisters could outbid both our houses. I could not have saved your father or your sisters. I would only have lost my head.' Renly said.

"Your Grace, why did Lord Stark not accept your offer?" Mathis Rowan asked.

Renly shrugged. "Ned Stark was stubborn. Perhaps his vaunted honor. Honor has its costs."

"My husband would not wish any harm done to innocent children." Catelyn said stiffly. "Joffrey is no innocent. And my father would not let any harm done to Tommen or Myrcella. Seizing the three would have saved his life." Robb snapped.

The door burst open and an old man, stooped with time, walked in with a missive. "Your Grace, an important message."

Renly smiled at the maester, as if nothing could disturb him. "I am sure it can wait after dinner, Maester Lomys."

"I do not think it can, your grace. It is a very urgent matter." the man said.

The younger Tyrells were the first to react. Willas sent the servants away, and Ser Garlan gave orders to the master of the guard and captain at arms to bar the doors. The Rainbow Guard gathered closer, with Ser Loras and Ser Robar with swords unsheathed. With a nod from Olenna, Alerie Tyrell ushered the other ladies of the Reach out of the room. Only Margaery, her grandmother and Catelyn stayed. Robb decided that unless asked, he would not leave.

A frowning Renly read the letter, his face turning purple. "Damn him!" Renly said.

"What has happened?" Mace shouted. Robb would have chuckled but it was a serious matter.

Renly handed the letter over to Margaery. She scanned it swiftly. "Stannis Baratheon has sailed to Storm's End. He is besieging the castle with over five thousand men."

"This must be answered fiercely. Lord Randyll, how much cavalry do we have that could ride out in a week's time?" Renly said.

"Seventy five hundred. Our light cavalry would be best. In the stormlands, we could recruit another five to ten thousand men to our cause." Tarly said.

"We go then to break the siege. I will ride at the front to defeat my foolish brother." Renly said.

"House Tyrell will be the first to support you, your grace." Mace brayed.

"As will your other leal lords, your grace." Mathis Rowan added. Other bannermen rose to pledge their featy, from all areas of the Reach. The Stormlanders were slower to rise.

"This is the most idiotic idea I have ever heard." Robb said.

"What? How dare you…." Mace sputtered.

"How far away is Storm's End from Bitterbridge? Six hundred miles. You would charge ahead with your cavalry to engage Stannis. If you killed your horses, you might get there in ten days, with no supplies, no infantry, no catapults, and no archers. You would be exhausted and fighting an enemy that has had weeks to prepare." Robb said.

The lords and knights looked around sheepishly as the angry reaction to the letter faded. "Also, Stannis is besieging Storm's End. Have you all forgotten the Rebellion? Fifty thousand men surrounded a garrison of less than a thousand, and the castle still stood after a year. Let Stannis break his army against those walls." Robb continued.

"But it is the seat of House Baratheon. I cannot let it fall." Renly cried.

"There is a better chance that I sack Casterly Rock than Stannis takes Storm's End. And my men are four hundred miles from the Rock." Robb said.

The amicable grey haired man with red and green apples on his doublet spoke. "Your grace, Lord Stark is correct. We had an enormous host when we besieged Stannis at Storm's End. We could not break the castle."

A very old man with a dark green sea turtle on his tabard stood up slowly. "Ser Cortnay Penrose is the Castellan. He is a good man and no fool. He can certainly hold Storm's End for months."

Robb rubbed his chin in thought. "Stannis sailed to Storm's End. He will not have much stores or supplies. His men will have a hard time feeding themselves, let alone succeed at a siege on a castle with a hundred fifty feet walls. If you do not rush, hunger may destroy his forces."

The room quieted down, with many eyes on Robb. The Lords of the Reach were a querulous crowd but they were impressed by the plain talk of the Young Wolf. "Lord Stark, what council would you give?" Renly said.

"Call for a parley - half the distance between Bitterbridge and Storm's End. Bring your Rainbow Guard and your lords. Make Stannis see reason. Your host is far greater than his, and you both want Joffrey off the throne. Any battle between your two forces only helps the Lannisters and results in the needless death of Stormlanders. If you do not fall into this trap, Stannis has no option but to treat." Robb said.

"Your grace, I believe you could make common cause with your brother. Why fight when you have a common enemy?" Lady Stark said.

An uncomfortable expression passed over Renly's face, but the youngest Baratheon smoothed it over with a forced smile. "Your words are sensible, Lord Stark."

Mace Tyrell let out a sigh of relief, the fat bearded face satisfied that the King had decided, and that he would not be blamed for any misstep. "I will have ravens sent out at once, your grace. And I will personally select loyal men and knights to accompany you. No army of Stannis will be able to trap you. You have my word. House Tyrell and our bannermen are loyal to you..."

Robb ignored the babbling Warden of the South and the curious gazes of the other Lords and Ladies, and Margaery Tyrell in particular. Robb's singular focus was the War in the Riverlands. He and Jon had decided that the best strategy was to capture, weaken or kill Tywin Lannister, by any means possible. Robb rode to Bitterbridge to open a second front against the Westerlands from the South. But with Renly Baratheon now focused on this phantom threat in the Stormlands, the North was unlikely to get swords and spears from the Reach.

* * *

Jon had been awake for an hour already when the sun rose. Ghost rested at his side, the white wolf eager to start the day. Jon had send a nightswift into the twilight to scout. The dark greyish brown bird blazed through the sky on long swept back wings, finding the Lannister camp with ease. The nightswift's sharp eyes saw many sigils - the golden lion on crimson and many different combinations of lions and boars, as well as the prancing purple unicorn. Jon could smell thousands of horses and the last bits of smoke from the embers of burnt out fires. There were no sentries posted, and the camp was dead asleep.

A few squires made their way around, rousing the leaders. They relieved the guards, who tried to catch a few winks after overnight patrols. Gerry and Chett led others in feeding the horses with fresh water and grain. The rest of the Wintertown boys began to pack, taking down tents, and preparing a breakfast of reheated bread and porridge.

The commanders assembled a small distance from the road, trees and hills offering concealment from the sun and the eyes of the Golden Tooth. Three hundred yards further, and the army would be visible to watchers on the castle walls. Ser Stevron, flanked by Black Walder, Perwyn and Walton Frey, pushed his way to the front where Lady Mormont, Eddard Karstark and the Smalljon already stood. The crowd of knights and nobles from the North and the Riverlands waited for Jon to speak.

"We stand at the border. The Golden Tooth lies beyond that hill. Even now we can turn back. But once we cross, there will be no retreat or negotiation. Once we cross, we ride for Oxcross to bring War to the West. In enemy territory, orders must be followed. Discipline will be maintained at all cost. We have to be silent. No speaking, no questions.' Jon said.

"How do we cross without the Tooth raising the alarm? How do you intend to ride unseen to Oxcross? We do not have large numbers. We could be trapped by enemies." Black Walder said.

"You Frey craven. Don't you think the maester has thought of this already?" Smalljon yelled.

"Who are you calling a coward, Umber?" Black Walder snarled, his hand reaching for his sword.

"Enough, you idiots. They will hear your shouting at the Tooth." Maege Mormont said firmly.

"I know how to cross. I know where the Camp is - two miles from the village. And I know how to deal with the Golden Tooth. We attack with speed and surprise, not with large numbers. Ghost will lead us down the defile. We ride single file. Let us seize the moment. Today, we will repay the Lannisters for the War in the Riverlands." Jon said.

* * *

The sun was still low in the sky when Ghost's keen nose smelled the Lannisters horses. Jon raised his hand and the riders stopped in silence on the river road. They had been lucky. Few smallfolk or merchants were up so early, or on the way Eastward. The outriders had spotted nothing suspicious and there had been no action from the watchtowers at the Tooth.

The warriors began to prepare for battle. Heavy cavalry readied spears and lances. Archers nocked bows, and men and women donned helmets and latched shields to their arms. Ghost ran up a ridge overlooking the Lannister forces. Jon warged for a flash, and still there were no guards in the slowly awakening camp.

"Lister, Gerry, Chett. Denys. Shayn." Jon called out. The four boys rushed forward. The mummer hesitated but stayed next to Gerry.

"The horses are tethered together. Walk over the hill and pretend to be squires. Cut all the lines, so the horses can run." Jon said. "And Lister, if anyone asks, you are a Lannister guard, escorting these boys. Betray us and you will pray for death. Go quickly lads. Very soon, we will charge into the camp."

Chett led them over the hill, with Ghost trailing them.

"Any last orders, Snow?" Lady Mormont said.

A few boys kindled small fires while others handed out to horsemen clubs and sticks dipped in pitch. Robb had bought fire and sword to the camps at Riverrun. Jon would do the same. A successful tactic deserved to be repeated.

"If you find Stafford Lannister, capture him. Spare the boys and the squires but kill everyone else." Jon said.

"What does Stafford Lannister look like?" Eddard Karstark asked.

"He is a blond cunt with green eyes." Smalljon said.

"They all are. Seems like all these Westermen have blond hair." Eddard said.

"Stafford is older. He has a son who is twenty and six. So he will be in his forties. I would bet he is resting at the largest pavilion." Jon said.

Ghost bared his teeth in a hungry snarl as Stark forces and Rivermen prepared to attack. The dire wolf bolted down the hill, and in mere moments, the sound of horses stampeding broke out. Jon could taste blood in his mouth as Ghost ripped a horse's belly open. The horses have caught his scent, Jon thought. Even if they could not see Ghost, they would panic.

Jon charged, the fighters from the North and the Riverlands following, armed with lances, torches, mace and swords. It was not a battle, but a rout. Westermen were rushing around in the chaos, attempting to calm the maddened horses when Jon's forces struck. Tents burned and heads rolled as two thousand horsemen raced through, cutting down any resistance. Boys fled in all directions, some jumping into the river, others dropping any armor or weapons as they dashed West and South, fleeing for their lives. In a blink of an eye, the battle was over. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands were dead or dying. Others cowered, unable to escape and begging for mercy. There was so many young boys, Jon thought. Stafford Lannister must have raised his recruits from the pot shops, wharves and slums of Lannisport.

Jon rode the garron to the large crimson tent at the center of the camp. Ghost met him, the wolf's fangs dripping blood. The Mormont girls were already there, dragging an old man with thinning yellow hair and a big square chin. There were several other captives in the tent - a lord lord who had only donned half his black steel armor with three golden lion heads before being knocked him senseless and another man wearing the unicorn of House Brax captured by Jory.

"Snow, this is Stafford Lannister. He was trying to flee but Ghost killed his horse." Dacey said.

"Dacey, call for Lady Mormont and the other Lords. We need to meet urgently." Jon said. "I need to know our list of captives. Who else is in this camp, Lannister?"

"You will have to kill me first." Stafford shouted.

Jon rolled his eyes. "I will find out soon enough." Lady Mormont, the Smallljon, Eddard Karstark and Wendel Manderly gathered in the tent, and many of the Northern Lords looked troubled. "How many captives do we have?" Jon asked.

"Thousands, my Lord. But they are not …." The Smalljon's words were interrupted as several Rivermen entered - the Goodbrooks and the Rygers.

"Where are the others? Where are the Freys and the Charltons?" Jon asked.

"They are busy looting Ser. Black Walder and his brothers are searching the tents for gold and silver." Lymond Goodbrook said.

"We have no time for this. Tell them I want them to come immediately to this meeting. If they don't, I will hang them for disobeying my orders." Jon said coldly.

After the knight rushed to relay the message, the Smalljon continued. "Maester, we captured thousands but even more fled on foot. Should we pursue them?"

Jon shook his head. "We do not know the terrain, and many have no doubt run West on the River Road. Soon they will raise the alarm in the village of Oxcross. We have no time to waste." Jon noticed the Mormont girls whispering. "Why do you look so troubled, Lady Maege?"

"It would be easier if we showed you." Lady Mormont beckoned her men. They dragged in a half dozen prisoners. The first was a blond boy of ten and two. The next was perhaps a name day older. The next boy was even younger. The other three prisoners were alike - None were older than ten and four.

"Why are they so young?" Jon asked.

"Maester, they are all like that. The entire camp is full of beardless boys. I do not wish to kill children." Eddard Karstark said.

The Mormont soldiers brought in more prisoners. It was the same pattern - boys who should have been handling horses and polishing armor, not fighting with swords and spears. "These men are green, Master. Untrained recruits, farm boys with nowhere to go. Lyra captured some fishermen who had been pressed into the army only three days ago." Lady Mormont said.

The Freys walked into the room. Perwyn Frey helped a hobbling Stevron Frey while Black Walder looked on angrily. "I am sorry, Lord Snow. I took a cut in the shoulder."

"And then you fell off your horse." Black Walder sneered.

"At least he was fighting. You were trying to rape the camp followers." Perwyn snapped.

"Enough." Jon looked at Black Walder with great distaste. "We have important business. Were there sell swords or freeriders?"

"There may have been some, Maester. But those ones are probably the first to run. It was the boys who tried to protect the horses and the tents." Wendel Manderly said.

Jon peered more closely at one of the taller boys. He was young and lanky with the same green emerald eyes as Gerion. "I know you. I saw you at Riverrun. You were a squire." The boy nodded his head and stared at the ground. "Tybolt Marbrand. You swore an oath not to raise arms against the Northmen."

"Aye and I will pay the price. I have been captured twice now." Tybolt said bravely. The young boy hid his fear well. He may have been foolish but he was a brave lad.

"What a victory! We captured boys so green, they are not smart enough to run away." Black Walder japed.

"These are not just young boys. Look at their hands and garb. These are not smallfolk. This one is a Marbrand. Which houses are you from?" Jon asked prisoners.

"Lydden." "Serrett" "Prester.""Farman." "Vikary." "Broome." "Plumm." The voices rang out.

Jon paced the tent, in deep thought. "What does this mean, Maester?" Eddard Karstark asked.

"It explains why the camp is at Oxcross." Jon turned to Stafford Lannister. "Tell me, how many times have you travelled to the Golden Tooth? And with which houses?"

The old knight blinked stupidly. "But how did you find out?"

Stafford Lannister truly was a dolt. He had just confirmed Jon's suspicions. "Lady Mormont. We have an urgent task, and it must be done immediately. These instructions have to be followed precisely. Jory and Lyra - find Lister, and the Wintertown boys. I need them here now. Dacey, Eddard, Smalljon, and Wendel - I need the best fighters in our forces. Tell all the men - prepare to ride." Jon said.

* * *

Alysanne Lefford drank her cup of tea as the rest of the ladies room clucked over lemon cakes and fruit tarts. Aly stood out in the breakfast room. She is not as old as the matrons of the Westerlands, but she was quite mature compared to the younger daughters. Her father left her in charge of the Golden Tooth after his departure. She was also more concerned about the war, and she smoothed her long straight black hair, a vestige of her Blackwood great grandmother.

Her aunts and cousins expected these troublesome Northmen would be beaten with ease, just like the Rivermen. News of Jaime Lannister's capture and disturbing stories of prisoners and Tyrion at Riverrun had been dismissed as a temporary setbacks. The Young Wolf had not faced the Old Lion, and Tywin Lannister, as Ser Stafford tediously noted, had never lost a war.

"My dear niece, you must think of the future." her aunt Cerenna said.

"And what future is that?" Alysanne said.

"Marriage, my dear. You are not getting any younger. My son, Ser Daven is close to you in age."

Alysanne liked the blunt and outspoken knight but Daven had no lands or keep, and her father claimed that after the war, Tywin would force Ser Jaime to leave the Kingsguard. Casterly Rock was a great prize although she would have to deal with Tywin as good father and Cersei as sister. Both would make her life miserable and she could not rule the Rock until they died. All things considered, Alysanne would prefer to stay the Lady of the Tooth. "We are in a war, Auntie. Before making betrothals, we should wait to see who lives and who dies."

"The war will be over by the end of the year." Janna Vikary said. "Once Lymond marches west with Ser Stafford, these Starks will bend the knee."

"And when will that be?" a plump blond asked. "My boy says that the other recruits are so green, they cannot even hold a spear. He says that he and Martyn Lannister are the only ones who can charge on a war horse."

"Tybalt says the same." Aunt Casella chimed in. "He says the Northern army would cut through Ser Stafford's recruits like Valyrian steel through a wooden shield."

Before the other ladies could chastise her for lack of faith, a page rushed into the room. "Lady Lefford, riders spotted at a distance. Ser Stafford is galloping back to the castle."

"But why would Stafford come this morning?" a puzzled Cerenna asked.

"He appears to be chased, my Lady." the page said out of breath.

* * *

Alysanne dashed to the main gatehouse, her three personal guards and Aunt Cerenna in tow. The Golden Tooth had three gates, a battle gate looking west, a Hunter's gate where herds of goats and cattle could be driven out to graze, and an East Gate to the Riverlands. That day, only the drawbridge of the Battle Gate had been lowered over the dry moat filled with tall and rusted spears, staked to the ground. The castellan handed Alysanne the Myr spyglass.

She could see Stafford's gilded ring mail in the front with blood crusted on the neck and shoulders. Her uncle led several dozen riders - squires and knights. She could see the black steel armor with three golden lions of Lord Jast and the white and red great helm of Ser Lymond Vikary. She hoped for the sake of her aunts and cousins that Tybalt and Martyn were in the group and unhurt. "But who is chasing them?" Alysanne wondered aloud.

As if in answer, a warhorn sounded, a long low blast that rolled from the west. Another horn answered from a ridge to the south, and then other trumpets joined the dirge. It was a terrible sound, a song of vengeance that promised blood. The horns continued the frightful melody.

"Aii, it is the Northmen, my Lady. They have come to kill us all." A guard screamed.

"How long does it take to raise the drawbridge?" Alysanne asked coolly.

"Not long at all, my Lady. We could allow Ser Stafford in and then lower the portcullis. The invaders would be fools to charge while we raised the bridge." The castellan said.

"Then do so. I will be there to greet my uncle." Alysanne said. "Order the garrison to man the towers. And have meat and drink prepared for them."  
Alysanne waited at the gatehouse. The watchers on the hall could see clouds of dust and horses in pursuit now. Her two aunts and several cousins were with her, and ten guards stood in the passageway, their spears pointed in the direction of the lowered drawbridge.

The horses thundered past as four dozen riders galloped through the hall, past the murder holes and into safety. "Lower the portcullis." the castellan yelled.

Something was wrong. Tybalt's armor was askew and Lord Vikary carried a greatsword, far longer and broader than his normal arms. Her uncle took off his helmet, only it was no Lannister at all. The hair was sandy blond, not thin tufts of a man going bald. The eyes were a dull brown and the man had a sheepish, almost apologetic look. This was not Stafford Lannister.

The riders dismounted and drew swords, maces, and spears. The man who pretended to be Lord Vikary was a giant, nearly seven foot tall, and with greatsword in hand, ambushed her guards. The warrior wearing Lord Jast's armor held the spike of a wicked looking morning star at the neck of the castellan. Other armed fighters surrounded her shocked aunts and cousins. Lastly, the figure disguised as Tybalt Marbrand vaulted off his horse and unsheathed his sword.

He took off the heavy steel helmet. He was tall and young with a long face, dark brown hair and gray eyes so dark and cold they looked almost black. He glanced over the crowd of disarmed guards and terrified ladies and saw that they looked in her direction. Alysanne Lefford mustered up the remnants of her courage. If she must, she would die with honor.

"What is your name, my lady?" he asked.

"Alysanne Lefford. I am the Lady of the Golden Tooth."

"Tell your men to throw down their weapons, raise the portcullis, and surrender." he said.

"May I have your name, Ser?'

"I am no Ser. Jon Snow." he said.

**Author's Notes**

The notes have been getting too long so I will keep this short.

The Valyrian dagger had a bizarre journey in the TV show where Ned Stark kept the dagger, Baelish stole the dagger, and then he weirdly gave it to Bran. I think the TV writers thought it was some sort of poetic justice but it seemed like heavy handed foreshadowing. In this one, Catelyn takes said dagger, and Robb eventually has it. After all, he has no other Valyrian steel.

Of course it can't happen due to plot armor but I sincerely believe that if the North allied with the Reach and got the Tyrells to attack from the South, GOT would be over in two books. This is obvious to Robb but not so much to Mace.

Are the Tyrells great plotters? They start off super strong, with Olenna masterminding Joffrey's death. But man, the Tyrells drop the ball. After they kill off Joffrey, and Tyrion kills Tywin, the clear enemy is Cersei. Kill her and you have won the game. The Tyrells don't know about the dragons or the white walkers. But they just futz around. If they could poison a king, why could they not kill Cersei who is drunk off her ass half the time?

I wrote Olenna as being direct and blunt. Some readers might argue she is more subtle, pulling strings from the back. The way I see it, Olenna is a chameleon. When she deals with Sansa, she can play the "poor child" card. When she confronts Tywin, she just goes strength for strength. So for Robb, she is somewhere in the middle - and maybe more forceful than the book.

I am confused by the whole Jeyne Westerling plot. It is told from the perspective of Catelyn and Tyrion's dealings with Tywin but it seems absurdly lucky. They couldn't expect Theon to burn Winterfell, and appear to kill Bran and Rickon or Robb to get injured and need a buxom nurse. Did Jeyne's mother somehow dope Robb with love potions? How did her daughter not know that she was being doped with moon tea? To be honest, it seems like Tywin got lucky and his cryptic comments, **_"Jeyne Westerling is her mother's daughter and Robb Stark is his father's son"_ **struck me as too all knowing. In the TV show of course, it is not honor but love that drives the Talisa Maegyr twist.

My take on the Westerling mess is simpler. Grey Wind scares Jeyne Westerling, terrifies her mother, and dislikes the Spicer uncle. Trust your dire wolf. If Robb had trusted Grey Wind and Jon kept Ghost with him at all times, these books would be a lot shorter. Lesson - Dire Wolves are awesome. Imagine a Targaryen not listening to his dragon.

The canal in Jon's mind is modeled off the Erie Canal. It took eight years to build, and was 350 miles long, 40 feet wide but only 4 feet deep. So only barges could travel on it. Jon envisions a canal that is less wide but deeper, maybe 10 feet plus, because cogs in the middle ages, like the Santa Maria, had a draft of 3 meters.

Storm's End - the Reach must be full of morons. I understand Mace is dumb as a doorbell but what about Randyll Tarly? If you couldn't take it in a year, the Reach should not worry about Stannis with five thousand men. I think GRRM uses Storm's End as this impregnable castle so he can build up to the Golden Company taking Storm's End. Then people will ooh and ahh over fake Aegon before he gets his ass kicked. So I think Robb's reaction makes perfect sense. It is in character with how GRRM's characters appear with a bang and then just drop the ball.

Stafford Lannister's host at Oxcross is a disaster. It goes into military strength. According to sourcebooks, the Westerlands can raise fifty thousand. But here's the thing - Jaime had 15,000. Tywin has low 20s to 30K. So that is 40K men accounted for. It is hard to get all your military strength. The North can raise 45,000 men - but Robb only raises 16,000. That tells me that Tywin basically took everybody, and to get to the full 50K, he is really scraping the bottom of the barrell. Incidentally, in the Middle Ages, it was hard to raise large armies. People were mostly farmers so only a few - nobles and king's households - were truly trained to fight. So it is not trivial to find good fighters. Perhaps this is why the Iron Islands can punch above their weight. They are small crappy islands, but nobody sows, so they have to fight. Still they get their asses handed to them all the time, unless lucky Euron is around.

The capture of the Tooth is based on a Viking story of a Jarl Hastein. He was in stories of quasi mythic figures like Sigurd Snake Eyes and Ivar the Boneless. He dreamed of sacking Rome. So he has his men carry him into the gate and pretend he was dying and wanted to convert into Christianity. When he got to the church, he jumped off the stretcher and sacked the town. Unfortunately it turned out to be Luna, which is two hundred miles away from Rome!

Lastly, there is a lot to say about distances and how it affects battle. Let's just put it like this - for Renly to ride from Bitterbridge to Storm's End to confront his brother is incredibly retarded. It is akin to Petyr Baelish popping up from King's Landing to Winterfell and back to the Vale. It makes Season 7 seem contrived. It takes a long long time for armies to travel. The Roman army could march 24 miles in 5 hours with all their supplies. But that was why they were so awesome and conquered the world. Any medieval army would take a lot longer. The best mounted soldier in the Middle Ages might move fifty to sixty miles a day, and if he did, he would swiftly outpace his supply lines. I read that some medieval armies were lucky to move 5 miles a day.


	18. The Bloody Wolf Rises

**The Bloody Wolf Rises**

For a thousand years, the Golden Tooth guarded the Westerlands from any Eastern invasion. Even as House Lannister faced rapacious Greyjoy reavers or quarrelsome Reach nobles, the Lords of the Rock never lost sleep over the fractious Rivermen. The Tooth was unassailable, just like Casterly Rock. Now, the fortress was a gateway for attack, and the rich lands beyond - rugged hills, rolling plains, fertile farms, and prolific mines - were ripe for plunder.

After their treachery, the Northern army consolidated their gains with lightning speed. Dacey Mormont, the woman in Lord Jast's black steel plate, blew a blast from her warhorn, and in the valleys below, trumpets and horns answered. Soon, North and Rivermen surged into the Tooth, and a thousand horses milled about the River Road. Wagons of prisoners were dragged by hard bitten warriors to the Tooth. In the castle, the women and children were rounded up in the great hall, the master at arms and guards forced to surrender and locked in the dungeons, and the Maester and castellan interrogated. Armed Northmen searched the castle for gold, food, and anyone in hiding or seeking to escape. A giant white wolf with blood red eyes joined the patrols, terrifying the already frightened ladies of the castle.

Alysanne Lefford was stunned at the turn of events - from gossiping over lemon cakes to being guarded by she-bears with wicked morning stars in a span of hours. She sat in a corner of the Great Hall trying to keep her composure. Her aunts - Myranda Leffort, Stafford Lannister's wife, and Cassella Lefford, Tybolt's mother - shook with fear, which only worsened when Ser Stafford and Tybolt, along with many other highborn prisoners, were dragged before Jon Snow in chains. Alysanne did her best to sooth the younger children and girls clinging to her and cowering from the Northmen. Maester Haemon, Castellan Doggett, and Septon Baldrick offered no guidance, as they were as paralyzed as the ladies.

Alysanne heard what happened to cities and castles sacked in war - looting and pillage, men and children put to the sword. Slavery was outlawed in Westeros but after battle, women were carried away to be gang raped, often killed afterwards. As the Lady of the castle, she had some protection for her father, Lord Lefford, would pay a ransom if she was not despoiled, but her maids and servants had none. And in the heat of the moment, even her title might not save her maidenhead from being treated as plunder, particularly by the war leader.

None of that happened at the Golden Tooth. The highborn women and any children were placed under tight guard in the great hall. Even maids and female servants were watched by fierce fighters with a black she bear on their shields. Snow was far more interested in the prisoners - their names, titles, Houses, and their parentage rather than loot. The Northern soldiers and their commanders had been directed to search for every inch of the castle but were told that anyone who surrendered would not be harmed. Snow questioned her wailing uncle on the size and composition of the Western forces. Two days ago, Stafford Lannister bragged to admiring ladies how his men would bring House Stark to heel. Now Stafford betrayed the names of all the highborn squires and knights present at Oxcross.

And there were many many names. Ser Stafford had been tasked to train the new Lannister army at Casterly Rock and he and his three captains were all captured: Ser Rupert Brax, Lord Antonio Jast and Ser Lymond Vikary. But the North had captured nearly a hundred highborn hostages and half of them young - boys who had been pressed into service after the defeats in the Riverlands : Martyn Lannister, Ser Kevan's third son, Lord Jast's sons, the heir to House Vikary, Lord Prester's son, the Bastard of Riverspring, the Serretts, the Sarwycks, Robin Moreland's nephews, and the Farman boys. There were squires from over two dozen noble houses, and to top it off, many lady mothers had come to the safety of the Tooth to say goodbye before their sons went off to war. Now, those departures were postponed, perhaps forever.

"Lord Snow." A giant of a man with dark brown hair and a thick grizzly beard reported. A giant two handed sword was strapped to his back. "Four of the five towers are secure but a lady and her guards have bolted themselves in the Bell Tower. They have barricaded the doors."

"Even though you told them the consequences?" Snow asked.

"Aye, I said we would show mercy if they surrendered. And if they didn't, that I would return with more men."

Another man, tall and rangy with a long axe, interrupted. "What if we set the tower on fire? The smoke would force them out."

"Such a fire would have to be rather large. And if the winds changed, might be dangerous. Which lady is it? And why would anyone want to hide there?" Snow said.

No one in the hall answered that question or even met the man's eyes. The leader of the Northern army looked more impatient than angry. "If my men have to break down the door, I will order them to kill everyone inside. Men or women, smallfolk or highborn."

Septon Baldrick gasped. "The sept is there. It is sacrilege to shed blood in the light of the Seven!" the fat man thundered.

"Lucky I follow the old gods then. Lady Lefford, which one of your ladies is missing?"

The Northman was no fool. Alysanne could refuse to answer but he would find out eventually, and she had no desire to provoke his anger. "Lady Lannister."

Snow raised his eyebrows. "Which one? The Lannisters are a rather fertile house. Your aunt Myranda is married to Stafford. We have his daughters, Cerenna and Myrielle, here."

"Lady Dorna Lannister. Ser Kevan's wife." Alysanne responded. "No doubt she fled for her younger daughter's safety. Janei is less than three name days old."

"She is a fool, then. Her actions only endanger her children." Jon said. "Martyn Lannister." The boy was dragged to his feet by a Mormont fighter. He was ten and one, Willem's twin, although he seemed younger with short blond hair and no wisps of hair on his chin. "At ease, boy. I have your father, Ser Kevan, and your brother, Willem. They have not been mistreated. Smalljon, take him to the Bell Tower. He will convince his mother to open the door and surrender. If she does not, break Martyn's arms and legs - slowly - so his mother can hear the screams."

The giant grinned and then left with the frightened boy and a dozen armed warriors. "You heartless blackguard." Alysanne said.

Snow eyed her curiously. "If she cares for Martyn, the lady will surrender. Fathers and Mothers find it hard to see their children suffer, and they will do much to prevent that."

And the bastard was proven right. There were no screams or no sounds of fighting. A chastised Dorna Lannister walked to the Great Hall, clutching her daughter Janei with one arm, and holding Martyn's hand. Alysanne consoled the lady and her children, and could see the tears in their eyes. Lady Dorna knelt on the ground and held her hands in quiet prayer. Snow did not notice or care. He was too busy examining the lists of prisoners.

* * *

The sun was still high in the sky when the commanders met in the castle solar. Jon sat in Lord Lefford's chair, a gaudy seat carved from the golden wood of the Summer Isles, and decorated with panels of Cerion Lannister's victories. The great King of the Rock had extended the rule of Casterly Rock to the Tooth by defeating an alliance of three petty kings. The Mormont girls stood at the window, with Lady Maege, Ser Wendel, and Ser Stevron seated opposite Jon. The Freys, Smalljon and Eddard Karstark were all present as were Chett and Gerion.

"Lord Snow. We have found many chests of treasure. Gold and silver coins, ingots, jewels, filigree rings, gold brooches inlaid with garnets, cloisonne pins, even bolts of silk. I have asked your boy to make a record, so that none will be stolen or lost." Wendel said.

"I trust your honesty, Ser Wendel, but an inventory will help. I will speak to Robb on how to best use the gold but a share of the spoils will go to those who captured the castle." Jon said.

"Snow, you were right about the food - but I doubt that was a guess. The Lannisters have stored an enormous amount of supplies at the castle - sacks of grain, bales of hay, barrels of smoked meats, dried beans, salted fish, and casks of ale. Best of all, there are pens nearby with hundreds of cattle. We can drive that back to Riverrun. There is enough food here to supply our army for two or three moons." Lady Mormont said happily.

"The meat and grain will be more valuable than gold. We must find a way to transport it back." Jon stopped when he heard a loud groan from the oldest person in the room. "Ser Stevron, what is the matter?"

"Pardon, my Lord. I feel ill." Stevron's face had turned a sickly shade of white.

"Ser Stevron took ill after he chastised Black Walder for looting the Lord's Chamber. Walder claimed three satin cushions, an ebony footstool, a lady's mirror, and even Lord Lefford's bed as loot." Perwyn Frey snapped.

"How does the twit expect to bring back a large bed to the Twins?" Smalljon asked.

"Perhaps he will sleep on it, as it floats up the Trident." Karstark japed.

"Snow, besides the loot, the food and the prisoners, there is another urgent matter. What shall we do next? The news of Oxcross will spread like wildfire by tomorrow. Casterly Rock may not know the Tooth was taken, but they will no doubt send ravens. In a week's time, the Lannisters will know." Maege said.

"I say, take the war further west. There are gold and silver mines at Castamere. Let's seize them." Smalljon declared. Even at Last Hearth, the singers knew the Rains of Castamere.

"Didn't Tywin Lannister flood Castamere? And we are an army, not miners. And Castamere is 200 miles away from the Golden Tooth." Wendel said.

"So was Oxcross from Riverrun, and we still crushed them. The Lannister army is overstretched. The castles might hold but they cannot defend their countryside." Smalljon said.

"True, but the two hundred miles from Riverrun was mostly in our lands. And there are many strong castles there - Ashemark, the Crag. But Ser Wendel makes a good point. If Tywin Lannister has left the mines flooded, then the veins may have run dry." Jon said.

"Lord Snow, should we retreat from the Tooth?" Ser Stevron said, groaning.

"Retreat? Why should we do that?" an outraged Smalljon said. "We should be attacking! Are all Frey knights as cowardly as Lord Walder?"

"Watch your tongue, Umber. You have no reason to question our courage." Perwyn retorted.

"Ser Stevron is thinking about what the Westermen will do. When they hear that we have captured their women and children, they may besiege the Golden Tooth." Dacey said. The Heir to Bear Island was a vicious fighter, as Jon knew well from sparring, but she was also a voice of reason among the bellicose Northmen.

"Pfah. We would defeat these so-called lions. We have plenty of food and water, and the castle is strong." Umber replied.

"Yes, but they could encircle the castle. They may not have enough men but a siege would trap us here for weeks. And our forces in the Riverlands could use the supplies." Lady Maege said.

"I have a plan, my lords and ladies. It may be unpleasant but it will hurt the Lannisters badly. Chett, bring in Lady Lefford and the Maester." Jon said. The Lady of the Tooth strode in, head held high. The Maester was not nearly as bold, his eyes looking down on the ground.

"How far away are other castles from the Tooth? By raven or by horse." Jon asked.

"Casterly Rock or Lannisport might take a raven two days. But for Ashemark and the Crag, they would get a message by nightfall. And as for horse, well, that depends. A man could leave Ashemark now and get here in a few hours if he drove his horse near death. Silver Hill would be a day's ride. They say that Oxcross is three days from Lannisport but a warhorse might be faster." Maester Haemon said.

"I will need your ravens. You will write this message in blood." Jon said.

"Blood?" The old man squeaked, eyes bulging. Even the Smalljon looked surprised.

"Yes, blood." Jon said. "Not human blood, you dolt. Chett, kill a pig or a goat. Write that the North has conquered the Tooth and destroyed the army at Oxcross. That we have prisoners - Lady Lefford, Lady Dorna Lannister, Lady Marbrand, and all the squires and heirs. Jast, Brax, Prester, Farman, Marbrand, Serrett, Moreland. Dispatch the ravens immediately to Ashemark, Deep Den, Silver Hill, Hornvale, Casterly Rock, and Lannisport."

"But, Lord Snow. The Westermen will rush to attack us." Ser Stevron exclaimed. The Frey heir expressed the surprise clearly on the minds of all in the solar.

"My uncles and cousins will stop at nothing to bring you down." Alysanne said.

Jon turned to the bold lady of the Golden Tooth. "They can try."

* * *

As news of Jon's orders spread, the castle came alive. Mormonts, Manderlys, Karstarks and Umberly soldiers fanned out, examining the towers and gatehouse, checking out the arrow slits and murder holes, and inspecting the merlons and crenels of the battlements. Horses were stabled in the Tooth or put out to pasture past the walls facing the Riverlands. Sharpened stakes were placed in the dry moat, and arrows, bolts, and stones were gathered in areas where defenders could return fire. The Golden Tooth did not have the extensive sets of secondary defenses of Winterfell but the rugged terrain and commanding height made the castle a difficult target. A more sensible and ruthless adversary might abandon the lady prisoners to their fate.

Jon doubted that the three nearest fortresses - Ashemark, Silver Hill and Hornvale - would react in such a calculating manner. The veteran war leaders were in the Riverlands, leaving at home a motley crew of lords past fighting age and aggressive young knights. Second, the nobles would be outraged by the ravens and the clear threat to their children and wives. In the Westerlands, fostering was common, and many houses sent children to squire with other families. And third, the Western had no idea of the size of the Northern forces. At the very least, they would send an army to assess the situation. And given the insulting tone of the raven, Jon was certain the Lords would feel honor bound to lead that host.

In time, cooler heads might prevail and the Westermen would realize that a siege would be costly and futile. But Jon Snow would not give them that time. He would force their hand. He finished one last raven for Bitterbridge. It was likely the message for Robb would be intercepted by the Tyrells or Renly Baratheon but the news would spread soon enough. And his letter carried scant details - only that they had won a battle and then cracked the Tooth.

Jon contemplated his plan. It would work but then they would curse his name, and not just in the West. But what was honor compared to victory? Bloodraven had sacrificed his to save the Targaryens - once at Redgrass Field, and again at the Great Council, when he beheaded Aenys Blackfyre despite promising safe passage. Jon had sworn to serve and protect his brother in war. If Robb ruled the North with his true born siblings, that was enough. It did not matter if Jon was disgraced. The lone wolf was not as important as the pack.

He descended the stairs with Ghost by his side. There in the Great Hall, the lords and knights of the North and the Riverlands waited. Jon had directed Chett and Gerion to call for the domestic servants, and they stood anxiously next to the Lady of the Golden Tooth. Over the day, the prisoners had been sorted and sent to makeshift prisons. Even boys as young as seven name days had been locked away. Only the ladies and the daughters had been allowed to stay.

"Why are we here, Snow?" Black Walder called out. The Frey knight had been infuriated when Jon ordered a halt to any looting.

"The Westerland forces will arrive soon, perhaps in a day's time." Jon said.

"We will be ready for them, Lord Snow. We have set up patrols and watches. We will be ready for any attack." Lady Maege said.

"We need to prepare for a siege. We have a thousand prisoners, men, women, children, smallfolk and highborn. From this moment on, until the Westerlords agree to terms, the prisoners will not eat. No meat or bread shall pass their mouths. Highborn or lowborn. Old or young, No food at all." Jon said. "But there is more than enough bread and meat at the castle." Alysanne Lefford said.

"Aye, and that is for the army only. Your uncles and cousins wish to defeat me. Let us see how quick they are to battle." Jon said.

"Do you mean to kill us all?" Alysanne cried.

"No. Hunger will do that. Tywin Lannister's forces pillaged the Riverlands, looting, stealing the food and destroying the fields. Your ladies will see how it feels when your stomach aches for a slice of bread. Then you will understand what your brave lions did." Jon said.

The Heir to the Golden Tooth looked at him with hate. The others muttered in shock and Dorna Lannister clutched her young daughter to her chest. "These are my orders, and I expect them to be followed. If I find anyone - even my men - feeding the prisoners, they will be thrown from the highest parapet into the moat below." Jon said.

"The Old Lion will not stand for this. He will take revenge." Lady Janna Vikary said.

"Harrenhal is over four hundred miles away. You will be long dead before Tywin comes. Let us hope the Marbrands and the Serretts are wiser. You can dream of rescue or pray that the Westerlords have sense. I would do the second, for your children's sake." Jon said.

* * *

The breakfast was a thin oat porridge with a few slices of apples and a small pitcher of warm cream. The castle was on a war footing, and servants, forbidden from feeding the prisoners, had prepared a minimal meal. Jon did not bother to take any of the slices of heavy oat bread, warmed over from last night. He had barely dipped his spoon when the Mormont ladies walked into the solar, with Maege in the lead, and frowns on all their faces.

"Snow, I could barely sleep last night due to the bawling ladies." Maege said.

Jon had not thought the castle walls were so thin. "It has been less than half a day. Their bellies may be empty but they are not dying from hunger." He said.

"I do not want to see any children die." Lady Maege declared. Her daughters clearly agreed.

"Neither do I." Jon put away the meager bowl. "When you swore your oaths to Winterfell, what did Lord Stark pledge?"

"That we would always have a place by his hearth and meat and mead at his table. And that he would ask no service that would bring House Mormont dishonor." Lady Maege said.

"Aye. In Ned Stark's name and my brother Robb, I will keep that vow." Jon said.

"So this is all a feint. You don't really mean to starve these prisoners?" Jory said.

Jon shook his head. "Do you know the problem with knights?"

"They have a stick up their arse and always demand to be called Ser?" Jory said.

"That too - but I meant in battle. Knights have a great need to show their bravery and value. They are more concerned about combats with other knights and their personal glory. So they lack discipline and they charge to the fight, when they would be better served to be patient." Jon said. "The ravens will provoke them. The knights and lords will look weak from the capture of their ladies and squires. They will rush here to prove their courage."

"What you say may be true - and this castle is certainly strong enough to resist. But a long siege will mean the deaths of many prisoners." Maege said.

"The siege will not be long. They are angry, and I will make their wrath will boil over. And angry men are easy to defeat." Jon said.

"Alright, Snow. We trust you but I hope you know what you are doing." Lady Maege said.

"When we left Riverrun, I planned to strike at the Tooth. That was why I wanted Mormont soldiers as the bulk of my forces. I needed no harm to be done to any prisoners if we took the castle. That is important to getting what I want." Jon said.

"But what do you want, Snow? We have the castle. We have secured prisoners, gold and supplies." a puzzled Dacey asked.

"Much more than that. And for that, I need fear. Fear cuts deeper than swords." Jon said.

* * *

It was still early in the morning when Wendel Manderly brought the prisoner to the solar. Tybolt Marbrand walked in, hands shackled and face dirty from sleeping on the floor. The blond boy met Jon's gaze with somber but steady eyes. No one could doubt Tybolt's courage. He was remarkably composed for a boy of ten and one.

"Do you know why you are here?" Jon said.

Tybolt nodded. "I broke my oath. I swore not to raise arms against the Northmen but I joined my uncle's host at Oxcross."

"And what is the punishment for oathbreakers in the Westerlands?" Jon asked.

The boy did not blink. "Death. For nobles, a beheading. For others, a hanging. Or if a point needs to be made, a crow's cage like the one for Uncle Tyrion."

"Do you wish to die?" Jon said.

"No, Ser. But I will not beg for my life. It was wrong to break my oath." Tybolt stopped. "May I write a raven? To say goodbye to my sister Jeyne at Ashemark. She has only eight name days."

Jon tapped his fingers on the desk. "No. Any ravens sent from the Golden Tooth will be mine. I will decide your fate today. But the guards will take you now to your mother, Lady Marbrand. Spend the remaining hours with her."

Tybolt nodded, and then walked off with Manderly men. The boy was brave, Jon thought, and deserved a better fate. War though demanded a price paid in blood.

* * *

The trumpet blew first, and then the sentries on the walls raised the alarm. It was a cold dreary day, and the mists persisted into the early afternoon. Only then did the army appear outside the castle. From Ashemark had come Lord Damon Marbrand with burnished bronze armor and a cloak of bronze and smoke grey. A wedge of Marbrand knights under their banner of a burning orange tree on a smoking field formed the bulk of the cavalry. There were other mounted lancers wearing the sigil of the purple unicorn on a silver field and a peacock in his pride on cream. House Brax and House Serrett were the two closest houses to the Golden Tooth. There were dozens of other banners held aloft by tired men on tired horses - Lyddens, Baneforts, Swyfts, Paynes, and Sarwycks. Many of those must have ridden through the night.

Besides Lord Marband's white charger, a big man rode on a large bay destrier in gilded ringmail. Such mail was not uncommon in the West but only a Lannister would so openly display the gold lion on crimson. With a spyglass, Jon could see the roaring lion on the great helm, the heavy pauldrons and a crimson fox fur cloak. That one had to be Ser Daven Lannister, and Jon reckoned that Stafford's son would be eager to avenge his father.

The sun glittered off the points of four hundred lances and three times as many spears. The force was smaller than Jon's host but he had no doubt that this was only the vanguard. In a day or two, or perhaps even that night, foot soldiers would link with the cavalry, bringing archers, crossbowmen, and supply wagons.

Jon stood up and summoned his commanders. He ordered the guards to bring the prisoners as well. "Let's give a proper welcome to the Lannister army."

* * *

They assembled on the highest tower facing West, overlooking the gatehouse and the drawbridge that the Northmen had stormed only a day ago. Jon gazed through the spyglass out in between the two merlons, built high enough to give archers complete protection, and to hide the catapult behind him. It would take an extraordinary shot to hit the catapult with a siege weapon. Shooting from the tower roof offered no such difficulty, which was why Lannister forces remained a quarter of a mile away. Even the best archer would need a powerful longbow to reach such a great distance.

"Who has the best eyes among us?" Jon asked, holding out the spyglass.

"Lyra does. She can hit a shadowcat from a hundred and twenty paces away with a spear." Jory said, to her sister's delight.

"That's not so hard. I can do that too, as can any man of the Last Hearth. You have to be a good hunter and tracker when you live in the true North." Smalljon boasted.

Jon handed Lyra the spyglass. She looked out into the crowd of fluttering banners and men pitching tents. "Snow -what do you expect me to see? It is just a lot of cunts with fancy signs on their shields and horses." Lyra said.

Jon sighed. "The men in front, Lyra - presumably they are the leaders. Their sigils and anything unusual."

"Well there is the blondie that Dacey smacked around on the last day. He had a big chin, and hair like a little poncy girl. Although he has grown a beard and a mustache - so not lady like. There are a bunch of people wearing orange trees." Lyra said. "One of them is old with white hair. There is another one next to him, and he is pointing his fingers at the castle."

"How old is he?" Jon asked.

"Not as old as the old man, that's for sure." Lyra said, as her sisters snorted. "Maybe five name days older than Dacey."

"That may be be Lorent Marbrand, Lord Damon's second son. Was he at Ashemark?" Jon asked the crowd of prisoners.

"My father and my grandfather were both at our family castle." Tybolt answered.

"Good, bring out the other prisoners." Jon said. Five men were forced onto the roof escorted by a dozen warriors. These were not ladies, or the children of Western nobles, or Stafford Lannister. They were the guards that had served Dorna Lannister when she fled to the sept.

"This one is the captain." a Mormont man said, pushing forward a burly man with bushy hair.

"Thank you. I will take it from here." Jon said. He took the rope and tied several knots about the man, over and through the arms, and at the ankles. There was a stunned silence, as Jon made certain there could be no movement. Jon beckoned to Smalljon and Eddard Karstark. With the help of the two tall men, they half carried and half dragged the prisoner to the catapult. The Lannister man began to scream when he realized that he was about to be placed in the bucket of the long wooden arm.

"By the seven." Stafford Lannister gasped.

"Snow, you promised the prisoners mercy if they surrendered." Alysanne Lefford said.

"But these ones didn't surrender. Lady Lannister's guards barricaded the bell tower. They did not take Smalljon Umber's offer, and only when Lady Dorna ordered them to open the door, did they give up." Jon said. "Do you have any last words?"

The prisoner was too frightened to answer, and the Smalljon and Eddard held the arms and hands while Jon cranked the winch, with the help of Gerry and Chett. The arm bent down, as the frame tensed with potential energy.

"My Lord, the men only did what I asked. They merely followed orders." Dorna said.

"Wrong orders." He aimed the catapult directly at Ser Daven and the two Marbrands. It would not reach the command tent of course, but the Westermen would hear and see the fate of the guard. Jon counted down with his right hand, and as he lowered the last finger, Smalljon and Eddard backed away. The arm swung forward, hurling the Lannister man high into the sky, like a fat wiggling worm. The screaming guard plummeted down to the ground, crashing with a loud thud two hundred yards away, and even without the spyglass, Jon could see blood pooling on the ground. "We have four others."

Jon began to tie down the second man, and the Mormonts stood by, weapons ready for any resistance. He had used a bit too much of rope on the guard captain, and would try to be less wasteful with the others.

"This is shameful, Ser." Ser Stafford said. "And to do so in front of these ladies, whose tender eyes should not be exposed to such violence."

Jon chuckled. "I am sure they know men die in war." The Smalljon had gagged the man rather than listen to his pitiful mewling. The lever sprang again, and the second guard was hurled in the same trajectory as the first, landing only a few yards away. "More rope."

"Snow, they are looking this way now. That Lannister knight, and the two tree people." Lyra said.

"Good." Jon looked at the cowering captives. "Don't worry, Ser Stafford. You are too valuable to kill. We are indebted to you for Oxcross and the Golden Tooth. I would rather hurl one of your two daughters over the wall first. And Tybolt, this will not be how you will die."

The blond boy nodded grimly, while many ladies and children burst into sobbing. It was clear that the Bastard of Winterfell felt no mercy. Jon continued tying the knots. Three more guards would be enough to convey a serious message to the Westerlords.

* * *

Jon sat in the solar, examining the different specimens of the willow tree. There was the green weeping willow, the sigil of House Ryger. There was the white willow, whose leaves were paler and flowers were longer, no doubt to attract bees. In the North, there were dwarf willows that were more shrubs than trees. Still, the bark shares the same quality, although Jon was hard pressed to figure out how to measure it effectively. Pain was a difficult thing to compare. He heard a knock on the door. Jon put the samples away to the side.

Dacey walked in, escorted by Perwyn Frey. "My mother wants to know when you wish to speak with the Westermen. They have sent messengers to the castle under a flag of Parley."

"Tell Lady Maege later today. But I only wish to see their leaders, and I will speak to them with House Mormont, and other Northmen present." Dacey nodded and turned to go. Perwyn did not. "What is the matter, Perwyn?" Jon asked.

"Lord Snow, it is Ser Stevron. He has gotten much weaker today." Perwyn said.

"Bring him to the maester's room. I will see him there." Jon said. Stevron Frey looked more tired than a man of sixty six name days should. The skin of his face and his mouth were dry as dust and he gasped for air, breathing in shallow bursts on the table. Jon swiftly measured his pulse, felt the temperature, and examined his eyes.

"Maester, the injury is on my hip. Should I remove my clothes?" Stevron asked.

Jon had no desire to see a half naked Frey. "No need for that, yet. How does your head feel?"

"Dizzy. Everything seems blurry." Stevron said.

'He threw up twice this morning, Lord Snow. He could only keep down a bit of water."

Jon felt the wrist again and measured the rapid and irregular heartbeat. "Do you see yellow?"

Stevron gawked at Jon like he was an Essosi warlock. "But.. but... How did you know? I had not told Perwyn and he was with me all day!"

"You are not injured, Ser Stevron. You are poisoned. If you ate the leaves of the foxglove plant, you would have these symptoms - blurred vision with a yellow tint, nausea, dilated pupils, a changed heart beat. A small amount would make your heart pump faster but too much can kill. Someone gave you this, either in your food or on your skin.' Jon said.

"It must be Black Walder. When you were injured at Oxcross, he gave you an ointment to apply to the scrape." Perwyn said.

"He could have mashed up the seeds and leaves into a paste. Clever of him. It is an uncommon poison, unlike powdered greycaps or nightshade." Jon said.

"Will I die, Snow? Will I never see my children again?" Stevron wailed.

Given that Black Walder was his eldest son's child, Jon had grave doubts about the intelligence of that comment. "I can treat the poison. It is important you drink as much water as possible. And kingscopper." Jon took out a large bunch of the reddish brown herb. "I will brew this into a poultice and you should apply it to all the areas that the balm touched. I will also give you some willow bark for any pain. It will help keep the nausea down, so you can get some food."

"Many thanks, my Lord." Stevron said.

"What will you do about Black Walder?" Jon asked. "I am not certain what we can do. He took back the balm, and will likely have thrown it away. We will not be able to prove it." Perwyn said angrily.

"He is kin, and family is important." Stevron said.

"Your grandson tried to become a kinslayer. Black Walder failed only because Perwyn came to me this afternoon, Had he waited a few more days, you would be dead." Jon said.

"Life at the Twins is different, Ser. My father, Lord Walder, says that family and blood are the most important things." Stevron said. The old man closed his eyes and Jon began to mix the pungent concoction of kingscopper, fire milk and willow bark. The younger Frey thanked him profusely but Jon thought Perwyn's attention should have been focused more on Black Walder. He doubted that this would be the last attempt and wondered who else had been involved.

* * *

The hall was silent that night when the four representatives of the Westerlands entered - the two Marbrands, Ser Daven Lannister, and a nameless Sarsfield knight. They wore mail shirts, but had been forced to leave their weapons at the gatehouse, and searched once more on the approach to the great hall. Jon sat with the Smalljon at his left and Lady Mormont at his right. Had Ser Stevron been well, the Frey knight might have taken the seat to Jon's left, but the meeting was dominated by Northmen - Mormonts, Manderlys, Karstark and Umber. Lady Alysanne sat next to Maege, and the other noblewomen huddled nearby with children. The Marbrands and Ser Daven looked with concern at Tybolt and his mother, and with a bit of disgust at Ser Stafford, who stared glumly at the table.

Damon Marbrand was a stately Lord, whose long hair and beard had turned white with the years. He walked with a limp, a wound from the Battle of the Fair Isle. The bards sang the sea turned red from Ironborn blood when Stannis Baratheon had bottled the Iron Fleet up in those straits. Clearly, the blood of others had also been shed there. His second son, Lorent, had dark copper hair combed back on a pale unsmiling face. Ser Lorent clenched his hands tightly, as if he wished to draw a sword. House Marbrand was one of the principal houses of the Westerlands but Lord Marbrand deferred to Ser Daven. The knight with the shaggy blond hair, bristling beard, and thick side whiskers was a Lannister, and that gave him command even in the presence of the most powerful retainers.

"Snow." Ser Daven grunted as he sat down first followed by the other Westerlords. Quick introductions were made, and the two Marbrands sat at the right and left of Ser Daven. Daven glanced around, and then raised his bushy eyebrows. "Snow, where is the bread and salt?"

"I have not granted you guest right. And even if you did, nothing would be served. We are not in the habit of feeding enemies. Lady Lefford, please explain?" Jon said.

The heiress of the Golden Tooth smiled bitterly. "Lord Snow has declared that prisoners are not to eat. They have not fed anyone for the last day, and that includes ladies and children."

"Do you mean to force us to depart by this cowardly behavior" Lorent Marbrand demanded.

"Retreat if you like. Your women and children will still not be fed." Jon said.

The Westermen gnashed their teeth and Ser Lorent and the Sarsfield man reddened with rage. Lord Damon reacted with greater composure. "Come, Ser. We can be reasonable men. I was at Pyke when your father led the charge. Ned Stark was a good man. He would not treat women and children like this."

"Ned Stark is dead. He was a prisoner as well. And his head was chopped off at the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor." Jon said.

"Because he committed treason against the Iron Throne. He confessed to the crowd." Ser Lorent said hotly.

Jon stared at the younger Marbrand, before turning back to Ser Daven. "Men of honor do strange things when their children are threatened. They tell me that my sister Sansa is beaten often in front of the Court, and yet she writes a letter declaring our father a traitor to her dear sweet Joffrey. What do you think your wives and mothers will do to save their children? What will they say when their children beg the servants for a scrap of bread?" Jon said.

"What do you want, Snow? You treated the prisoners fairly at Riverrun. We want our families safe. Do you want gold and silver for your captives?" Ser Daven asked.

"I want Ned Stark returned alive. My sisters, Sansa and Arya, safe home at Winterfell. And Joffrey's head on a pike." Jon said.

Ser Daven snorted. "You know those terms cannot be met. The first is impossible, and for the second and third - we do not rule the Iron Throne."

"If you cannot give me what I want, why should I grant you anything?" Jon said, equally blunt.

"More men will come. We have fifteen hundred now. In a week's time, it will double. And then double again, and so long as you hold the children of the Westerlands, our numbers will rise. I admit you have won your battles but we can still win the war. I can grant you fair terms. You will allow you to leave the castle with your plunder but free the children and the noblewomen. It is a better deal than Tywin Lannister would give." Daven said.

Jon laughed. "I saw your forces at Oxcross. Callow boys and greybeards who fled from the first charge. Ser Stafford emptied the docks and brothels of Lannisport for his army. Your fighters are east at Harrenhal. Lord Crakehall spoke to me proudly of his empty castle and his three sons serving with Tywin. Even if all of the garrisons in the West muster for the attack, I may still win at the Golden Tooth. Your men do not even encircle the castle. Will you conduct a siege only from the Western side? Your threats are empty, Lannister." Jon said.

"The men are green. But we can bring a lot of them. There are thousands who survived the Battle of the Camps. Even at Oxcross, there are sellswords and freeriders that have escaped. Ser Forley Prester is no fool, and he is gathering men at Kayce and Feastfires." Daven said.

Jon shrugged. "That will take weeks. By then, the Golden Tooth will be a charnel house full of dead children. And let's say the Westerlands assemble their mighty host of pot boys and mercenaries in front of the Tooth. What if the North wins? Robb won at the Whispering Wood and the Camps. We won again at Oxcross. If we smash your men at the Tooth, the West would be defenseless. The North could pillage and plunder without mercy. Your castles might stand, but your remaining lords would be trapped, sitting behind walls while their lands burn."

"The Old Lion…." Ser Lorent started.

"Yes, yes. Tywin Lannister will fly over Riverrun in a winged chariot and save all of you. I did not realize a lion was half a falcon." Jon japed before a cold smile crossed his face. "If the North defeats your forces at the Tooth, it would please me greatly to see Lord Tywin back to the West. We would prepare him a welcome that he would not soon forget."

Damon Marbrand spoke before his outraged son. "Lord Snow. Men die in war, but that will never change. But women and children do not need to die from hunger. Even as enemies, we can come to such an arrangement."

"Aye, there is something. Lord Lefford used the Tooth to hold supplies - food that he intended to ship East to Lannister forces at Riverrun. We want that food." Jon said.

"But.. but.." A perplexed Lord Damon looked at the equally surprised Lady Lefford.

"You already have it, Ser. You have captured those supplies." Alysanne said.

"No, you misunderstand. I want you to continue those shipments - the bounty of the Westerlands to be shipped to the Tooth. If the supplies continue, I will feed the ladies and the prisoners. And then the stores will be sent to Riverrun." Jon said.

"You cannot expect that. We would be feeding the Northern armies." Ser Daven said.

"Exactly. But your women and children would survive. We would not raid further into the Westerlands." Jon said.

"We cannot speak for House Lannister. Ashemark must follow Casterly Rock. That is true for all of the houses sworn to the lion." Lord Damon said.

"Tywin Lannister is far away. And the prisoners are starving now. But you can decide whether his good opinion matters more than the sons and daughters of the Western Houses. And there is another matter. Tybolt. Step forward." Jon said.

The tall blond boy stood up, and walked forward. His mother clung to his elbow, unshed tears in her eyes. Jon tossed a silver stag. Surprised, the boy caught the coin in his right hand.

"Snow, can we not pay a ransom for the boy?" Ser Daven asked.

"An oath is an oath. Tybolt Marbrand broke his sworn oath. Bring me a block." Jon said.

"You would kill a boy in front of his mother and father." The Sarsfield man said in outrage. Among the ladies present, only Alysanne Lefford did not gasp with shock.

Jon did not respond to the comment. There was no point defending himself, and his actions would be clear soon enough. Chett handed him the doeskin bag, and he took out three items - a sharp thin knife in a leather scabbard, a small glass jar of a thick white liquid, and a strange contraption - a long leather belt with a sturdy bronze screw attached near the buckle. Chett moved off to the side and thrust a small cleaver into the fire.

Jon took Tybalt's right arm and made two thin slashes near the wrist with the thin blade. He unscrewed the jar and applied milk of the poppy to both cuts. Then he wrapped the leather belt tightly about the forearm, eliciting a grunt when he turned the screw and the heavy bronze press bit into flesh. "What can you feel?" Jon asked.

"I cannot feel my arm or my wrist, Maester Snow." The boy said, perplexed.

Jon took the short and sharp cleaver from the fire. He placed Tybalt's wrist on the block, and to the shock of the crowd, Jon slammed the blade down, slicing the right hand cleanly off. There was an initial gush of blood, but Tybolt did not scream unlike his fainting mother and his enraged father. The boy was brave, Jon thought - and deserved a better fate. He took out a linen square and dipped it into a pale red liquid. "This will sting." Jon said.

He applied the fire milk to the open wound. Tybolt's blood mixed with the lighter red of the ointment. Jon tightened the bronze screw on the belt again, and then took out another small jar. This liquid was white but much thinner than the milk of the poppy. "Take this. Only a little bit at a time, but it will reduce any pain." Jon said, motioning to Chett.

"You bastard." Ser Lorent yelled, lunging over the table for Jon, only to be held back by Ser Daven and Lord Damon.

"Stop, Lorent." Daven said. "We are under the flag of parley. Your son is hurt but not dead. And the dire wolf would kill you even if the guards didn't." Ghost's red eyes glinted in the fire light but the wolf made no move to attack.

"He broke his oath, and he lost his hand. " Jon said, as the Winter Town boys took a stone-faced Tybolt from the room. "But hunger is different. That may cost him his head. You may wait for the great Tywin Lannister to return West but your children do not have much time."

* * *

Jon waited in the darkness, alone with his thoughts under the waning crescent moon. There were dozens and dozens of armed Northmen close by, and Eddard Karstark, Smalljon Umber, and the Mormont girls had all volunteered when he explained the plan. Silence was of paramount importance, so no one, not even the voluble Smalljon, spoke.

They camped atop the once hidden goat trail, that wound down the defile to the valley below. The track was stony and narrow, and men marching up or down could hide easily behind ridges and rocks. Even without darkness, Lefford guards had not caught a single glimpse when Northern and Riverland forces sallied forth to Oxcross. Jon would not let the Marbrands return that trick. Fire was forbidden, so the men and women had little to do but peer into the night, wondering if the Westermen would attack.

Only one man in four was awake, with others dozed, confident that those on patrol would raise the alarm swiftly. Many stretched out on the dirt and rocks, wrapped up in furs and thick cloaks. Jon had no need to rest that night nor did he waste energy staring into the dark. He considered his visions - the Doom of Valyria and the eruption of the Fourteen Flames, Lord Bloodraven and the Great Bastards, and finally the Targaryen princesses, consumed by the Iron Throne. The last princess haunted his dreams, tall and slender in a pale sleeveless pink dress with white lace, a sharp contrast to her cinnamon brown skin.

She smiled impishly and reached for him with her arms. Her eyes were not the dark brown, and near black, of her mother and the Martells. They were like her father's - deep purple and indigo. "Beloved." Rhaenys whispered.

But that could not be. Rhaenys Targaryen died sixteen years ago, butchered with her infant brother before her mother. She had been stabbed half a hundred times, her bloody body presented as a war trophy by the Lannisters. Jon was no fool with a head full of songs and stories. In life, the monsters won and Rhaenys had not been smuggled out of the Red Keep. "Beloved." she whispered again, the purple eyes twinkling with mischief.

Jon wondered if he was going mad. The Targaryens danced close to the edge of madness, and those that dreamed often fell over. But if this was madness, then it was a lovely vision. And in some less cruel world, Rhaenys would have lived, a sweet gracious girl who grew up to be a kind and clever maiden. She had a small black kitten, named Balerion after the great black dragon of Aegon the First. The girl died but perhaps the cat still lived, skulking in the shadows of the Red Keep.

* * *

The dire wolf broke the reverie, prodding Jon with a nuzzle, the hard garnet eyes looking down the trail. Jon could feel the tension under the thick white fur and the anxiety of the hunt. Ghost had picked up the scent of the Westermen. In the Wolfswood, the pack of dire wolves could locate elk and deer miles away by smell alone. It was time, and Jon stood up, whispering to the men on watch and ordering that everyone be roused but remain silent.

There was still no sign of the enemy, but Jon had no doubt in Ghost's senses. The path down the pass began at a large clearing, off to the side of the River Road. Mormont men stood next to the road and formed a sturdy shield wall several rows strong, with long spears ready to thrust. The steel shields, painted with a rampant black bear, would be the first sight and possibly the last sight the Westermen would see. Multiple lines of archers were hidden behind rocks, positioned on the curve of a semicircle. Jon crouched on one side with Ghost and the Mormont girls. On the other side, the Smalljon, Eddard Karstark, and Perwyn Frey waited, ready to spring. Jon had told the other commanders to spring the trap only when at least a dozen Westermen emerged.

"I think I hear something."Jory whispered, on Jon's right, After a moment, Dacey chimed in quietly. "Aye, there are faint sounds." Just beyond the clearing, the shadowy forms of warriors stepped cautiously forward behind shields. In the gloom, he could see a mixture of sigils - burning trees, green arrows, purple stars, and black spears. Ser Daven's crimson lion was not among them.

There was no longer any need for silence. "Draw." Jon cried. Behind him, a dozen bows were nocked. The darkness made precision impossible but archers shooting in a line did not need to be that accurate. "Loose." The shafts flew into the air. Some landed harmlessly on rocks or shields but others struck home, eliciting screams of pain.

The shafts continued to fly into shadowy shapes. From the trail, a voice cried loudly. "Forward! Charge! For Casterly Rock." Men rushed into the clearing, brandishing swords and uttering battle cries. The words were different for each House but they sounded much like Lord Roland Crakehall - a mixture of courage and stupidity.

The shield wall marched forward, announcing their fearsome presence. The front rank knelt, extending their spears at a low angle, the butts braced against the rocky ground, blades jutting out at thighs and knees. The second rank pressed closely behind, shields interlinking and the spears extended at the height of the chest. The last rank strapped their shields on their backs, and held the spears with both hands in an overarm thrust over the doubled shields in front. The steel wall had few weaknesses and multiple layers of vicious stabbing blades.

Even as the Westermen realized the danger in front, the Northmen attacked from the sides. Ghost ripped apart men effortlessly, biting through throats and mauling arms. Lyra, Jory, and Dacey caved in the right side, battering men to the ground, while the Smalljon and Eddard engaged from the left. Jon swept out with the halberd, a two handed polearm with three methods of attacking - the axe blade, a long spike, and a hook on the back. Jon used the last to drag enemies to the ground. The Westermen attack had failed. They began to retreat, inching their way back to the trail with shield raised. The warriors in front were too disciplined to flee. The Smalljon grabbed a massive stone with both hands, and with a guttural cry, hurled it over his head. It thudded to the ground. partially blocking the entrance to the goat trail. The knights were trapped and would be forced to turn to run, exposing themselves to spears and swords in the back.

"Archers. Shoot at the trail." Jon said. The lines of archers lifted their bows to the sky, and rained volley after volley of arrows on the path. Men crouched behind shields. The shower of arrows was more scenic than effective. Unlike the Raven's teeth, Jon's archers were not shooting from great height or with powerful weirwood bows. The hail of arrows halted the enemy in their tracks, making them easy prey for the attack on three sides. The Westermen, jammed into a small space, began to surrender and throw down their weapons.

Jon examined the shields for the sigil of the burning orange tree on a gray field. He found Ser Lorent, surrounded by other House Marbrand knights and men at arms. Lorent had been wounded on his right shoulder. It did not appear lethal, unlike the torn off limbs and ripped bellies that spilled blood and guts on the rocky ground.

"Snow, we have captured over two dozen and killed thrice that number. There may be more bodies lying on the trail as well." Dacey said.

"I doubt they will attack again, but set up a guard near the entrance. Thirty spearmen could hold the path against ten times their number. And build a wall to protect our fighters against any ranged attack. And for our archers to fire under cover" Jon said.

"How in the Seven Hells did you know we would attack?" Ser Lorent gasped.

"This path was hidden when Ghost discovered it. But only two days ago, two thousand men rode their horses down the trail. You would have to be blind and dumb not to find it. I knew that the Westemen would thirst for revenge, and what better way than to surround our castle by surprise. But night work is not Knight's work, Ser. You fell into a trap." Jon said.

'And what will happen? Will you starve us to death or kill us here?" Lorent said.

"That depends on your father. Let us hope he is wiser than his son." Jon said, as the new captives were taken into the castle.

* * *

Jon did not sleep that night. When they returned to the Castle, Maester Haemon examined the prisoners under the eyes of Jon and the Winter Town boys. The battle had been one-sided and no Northmen had suffered even a minor wound. The Westermen were in worse condition but the injured received good care. Ser Lorent would recover the full use of his right arm. Unlike Riverrun, the Golden Tooth was well supplied with fire milk, vinegar and dream wine.

Then he sent for Lady Mormont and Wendel Manderly. Even Ser Stevron managed to make it to the solar, much due to the chagrin of Black Walder. The Smalljon, Eddard Karstark, Lyra and Jory also attended, happy to recount their own part of the battle, while Dacey Mormont took charge of the castle defense. Smalljon took great delight in exaggerating the size of the rock he hurled. In a few days, the stone would grow into a boulder, the boulder would weigh more than a horse, and the Smalljon would strike down a dozen men with one mighty toss. The Northmen toasted and laughed when Jon spoke about their success. No one asked questions about the prisoners. Their fate was clearly in Jon's hands.

Later, he sat alone in the solar, the other commanders having retired to bed. The light of outside had turned a soft shade of blue, the color of the sky in that short period when the Sun hung below the horizon. It was a good time to think, to plan, and to reflect over the events of the past few days and the battles to come. But when Jon closed his eyes, all he saw was her - Rhaenys Targaryen, and her sweet gentle smile. In his dream, she was a few years older than him but she had only had three names days when she died. And now, Jon was using children as human shields to damage the Lannisters. Lady Dorna's daughter Janei had only three name days as well. The girl had not died but with no food, that could change quickly.

Bloodraven told Jon that he was a dragon hidden as a wolf. Was that a lie? Jon did not know but the dreams were too strong to ignore. Dragons answered to neither Gods nor men. If Rhaenys had a dragon and not a kitten, the Lannisters would have been served fire and blood.

* * *

The castle was quiet in the early hours of morning. Jon inspected the many towers, making the rounds only with Ghost at his side. He could have warged through a raven but he wanted to receive reports from the many lookouts posted last night. The high turrets of the Golden Tooth commanded an excellent view of the countryside and yet, no one had seen the battle last night. The watchers on the walls certainly heard the commotion, and saw shapes retreat in the darkness, but the goat trail remained hidden from their eyes. That morning, there had been little activity in the Lannister camp, save for a few stragglers joining the Western army. They were too small in number to make up for the casualties of the night skirmish.

Jon made his way to the infirmary. As he passed, the guards stood taller and the servants shrank back. No one met his eyes. No one dared touch the white wolf at his side. There were a dozen makeshift pallets for the wounded Westermen. A tired Maester Haemon greeted him at the door. Jon told the old man to rest, and Chett took him to the curtained-off bed where Tybolt Lannister dozed, half asleep. He examined the boy's right arm. The tourniquet was still attached, but Chett had followed the orders of gradually loosening the screw. The wound was clean from the fire milk, the bleeding had stopped, and the skin slowly beginning to scab under the bandages. Then Jon noticed a crumb of bread hidden under Tybolt's doublet.

"Chett, who was alone with Tybolt last night?" Jon asked.

"Just the Wintertown Boys, Maester. We never let Haemon alone with him. I watched him for most of the night - but Gerry helped when I needed a few winks." Chett admitted.

"Bring Gerion to me."

The blond green-eyed boy flinched slightly when he saw Jon's stern face. Gerry may have been no bastard, but he could sense trouble. "Gerry, what do you have to say?" Jon asked as Chett averted his eyes.

The words came out in a rush. "Maester, I did feed him, but he was suffering. I gave him a stoup of barley stew and half a heel of bread. I thought war was strategies and battles, not starving prisoners." The boy said, eyes downcast.

"Wars make monsters of us all." Jon said.

"I fed a few others, Ser. Martyn Lannister and the little girl. I am sorry, and I will accept my punishment." Gerry admitted.

Jon sighed. Somehow among the dozens and dozens of prisoners, Gerry had found his cousins. "I promised your mother you would be safe. I understand your feelings. Be more discreet."Jon said.

"Maester." Chett said, tugging on Jon's arm. "He is waking up."

Tybalt Marbrand sat up and looked around groggily. The boy's green eyes became alert when he saw Jon. "Lord Snow." the boy said.

"How do you feel this morning?" Jon interrupted.

The boy looked at his maimed arm. "It is strange. I feel no pain, but … I thought milk of the poppy made you sleepy."

"Milk of the poppy was used only once. Last night and this morning, you drank a distillation of willow bark. It relieves pain but too much can be a poison as well." Jon said.

Tybolt began once more. "Lord Snow, I heard the new prisoners come in during the night. Maester Haemon says that my father was among them."

"He was injured but should recover." Jon said.

"My Lord, I beg mercy for my father. He only wished to rescue me. Surely you can see that. If your lord Father attempted to save you, that would be expected. Please." Tybolt said.

Except Jon's Lord Father was dead. Lorent Marbrand had attempted to encircle the castle. Any attempt to rescue Tybolt would have raised alarms at the castle. And the strategy to control the river road would have failed when Ser Wylis Manderly arrived in a day or two. A few thousand more Northern troops would have smashed the Lannister forces. But the boy was pleading for his family, and Jon could not begrudge his spirit. "Mercy in war is not easy. But I will take into account your request. Do you feel well enough to walk?" Jon said.

Tybolt nodded. Jon gave orders and then opened the curtain, allowing the early morning sun to stream into the corner. He walked the boy over to see his father, Lorent Marbrand. Soon, Chett came back with Lady Casella. The parents hugged their son, and Jon left the small family alone, but under heavy guard.

* * *

Jon sat at the table with only Maege Mormont and Alysanne Lefford as the Westermen trudged into the solar. That morning, the Lannister camp had raised a flag for parley, and Daven Lannister and Damon Marbrand were escorted through the castle. The Lord of Ashemark had aged a great deal in a day.

"My son?" Damon asked.

"Wounded, but he should recover. He is with his wife and Tybolt now." Jon replied. "Was it only his idea to attack?"

"Aye, we told the idiot not to be a hero. And that we should scout the trail in the morning first." Ser Daven snorted.

"Where do we go from here, Snow? Do you plan to starve everyone still?" Damon asked.

"I have not changed my demands. I want food and supplies for my men. Give me that, and there will be no fighting - not in the Westerlands at least." Jon said.

"Lord Tywin will be wroth but I will not see my son, good daughter, and only grandson die. I cannot speak for the other lords but Ashemark will withdraw." Damon said.

"And what about you, Ser Daven? Will you watch as your father, mother, and two younger sisters starve?" Jon said.

"Snow, you really are a bastard. And I am not referring to your birth. Tywin may have my head for this." Daven rubbed his thick dark yellow beard. "If we deliver what you ask, how do we know you will keep your part of the bargain? How do we know you won't rape the women or kill the boys?"

"How have you been treated, Lady Lefford?" Jon turned to the Heir of the Tooth.

"You mean besides not being fed for two days and watching children go hungry?" Alysanne snapped before gaining her composure. "Ser Daven and Lord Marbrand, the Northmen have not harmed us. They have protected the women, and I have not seen or heard of any abuse."

"I will make you this promise. So long as you send the supplies we ask, the prisoners will not be harmed. I swear that on the honor of House Stark. When the war ends, they will be returned to you, safe and sound." Jon said.

"Very well. You will have the grain and meat. Today, we will send what supplies we have in camp. And we will deliver shipments to the Tooth every sennight. " Daven answered.

Jon looked at Daven carefully. The knight was outspoken and surly but seemed honest, and had a great deal of authority. There were few men who could speak for House Lannister in the West. "I promise to treat the prisoners well. But if you send thieves in some foolish scheme, or smuggle men in the sacks of grain and meat, then they will all suffer. I will answer such tricks harshly, and the blood of your ladies and children will be on your heads."

Daven nodded. "We will not forget your words, Snow." he said.

Jon could not tell whether that was meant to be a threat. "Lord Marbrand, I will return your son Lorent and the men we captured yesterday."

"Why would you do that, Bastard?" Daven asked suspiciously.

"Ser Lorent is hot-headed but his son is more sensible. Tybolt pled for his father. It is his boon that I grant. We do not need thousands of captives. We will set free the lowborn prisoners also after they swear oaths not to raise arms against the North or to attack the Riverlands. Or do you plan to break your word if Ser Lorent is returned?" Jon said.

"I care for the lives of my good daughter and grandson as well. And many Leffords are related to me. It is not for my son alone that I fear." Lord Damon said.

"Don't think this changes anything, Snow. House Lannister will seek revenge." Daven cried.

That definitely was a threat. "I look forward to Lord Tywin's response." Jon replied.

* * *

The guards escorted Ser Daven and Lord Damon to the infirmary. Jon gave orders to have a large lunch prepared for the prisoners. The Winter Town boys rushed away to deliver that message to the kitchen and the dungeons. Alysanne Lefford looked wary, but slunk away to tell her aunts and other ladies.

After the Westermen and lady had left, Maege Mormont stood up to go, but turned first to Jon. "You spared many lives but they still hate and fear you. They spit even on your mercy."

Jon shrugged. "Deeds matter, not words. They made promises and so have I. So long as we get the food… Lady Mormont, I would ask that you hold the Tooth for the North. Any fresh recruits from the West would need to march far south on the gold road. The march would be exhausting and they would be too late to help. The supplies from the West will keep the soldiers and horses well fed. I trust your fighters to behave and stay on guard."

"Aye, Snow." She hesitated. "Would you have let them die? The babes and the womenfolk?"

"I am a wolf. I would kill to defend my pack." Even as he spoke, the words sounded hollow to Jon. He was not just a wolf, as Bloodraven noted. Why else would he dream of Rhaenys?

"You are a Bloody Wolf, Snow. What will you do after the Tooth?" Maege asked.

"Go East. I have a lion to kill." Jon said.

**Author's Note**

Rape happened a great deal in military combat, so Lady Lefford's fears are realistic. Women were seen as war loot. My impression is that rape was even more prevalent outside of Europe. The Mongols, the model for the Dothraki (minus the awesome archery), were brutal. So Cersei's brilliant plan of group suicide in the Red Keep is not totally idiotic.

In the books, Willem Lannister and Tion Frey are killed by Lord Karstark after Jaime Lannister is released. Catelyn Stark's decision costs Robb two thousand men. In the TV show, only Willem and Martyn Lannister are mentioned - to simplify the number of the Freys - and they are both murdered by Karstark.

This is a riff on the Petyr Baelish quote - _"Men of honor will do things for their children that they would never consider doing for themselves."_ This comes from a Feast of Crows, and it refers to Baelish bribing Nestor Royce to stay in power. The Vale Lords claim to be honorable but a reasonable person could ask how much they knew/suspected of Baelish's manipulations.

In the books, Maege Mormont does this. After the Battle of Oxcross, she captures thousands of cattle to be driven back to the Riverlands. But here's the question - How is that possible if the North never took the Golden Tooth? I am not sure if I missed something or whether GRRM just said - logistics, food - who cares? Not relevant to the story.

Believe it or not, there is a good read, The White Company by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. One of the three main characters is an archer who recruits for the White Company, English mercenaries in France. He literally steals a bed as plunder, and brings it back to England! So Black Walder taking a bed as loot isn't crazy. I am not sure if the book was historically accurate or distorted by Victorian ideas, maybe a bit of both.

Jon points out that knights are hard to control in battle. This is validated by a number of medieval battles where knights are easily provoked. This prevents mixed use tactics, and was a real problem. Any generals who could coerce/coordinate his men (usually the knights were the biggest issue) was a step ahead of other commanders for those times.

"Fear cuts deeper than swords." This of course belongs to Arya. That said, I am not going to write much from her perspective, and it is a great quote, and appropriate to Jon's plot.

Foxglove is an actual and naturally occurring poison which I read about years ago in an Agatha Christie story. A murderer replaced heart medication with a batch of foxglove. I have my doubts it would be this lethal or undetectable but this is fiction after all!

In the books, Ser Stevron died three days after the Battle of Oxcross, after taking a slight wound in the battle. Robb believes that he might have been able to make amends with Stevron over the whole Jeyne Westerling affair but not Ryman and Black Walder. Black Walder is not mentioned at Oxcross but he is definitely present by the time Robb makes it to the Crag.

Willow Bark contains the chemical salicin which is very similar to aspirin. It was used commonly in the time of Hippocrates as a pain reliever. Some people believe that Beethoven suffered kidney damage leading to death from too much salicin. Jon also uses a tourniquet. Despite some articles online dating tourniquet usage to 1674, the Romans used tourniquets. If you google ancient Roman tourniquet, you will see that exact leather and brass contraption. The Romans invented it by 200 BC!

There is evidence that the black kitten, Balerion, grows to become the mangy black tom that Arya catches in the First Book. And the quote that Rhaenys should have had a dragon, and not a kitten, comes from Lord Varys.

The description of the shield wall comes from a Viking battle. Imagine three layers of spearmen. That said, my guess is that this only works in small groups. In battle, the shield wall is probably two layers - although I plan to do research on this before Chap 21.

_Night work is not Knight's work_. I think this is actually from a fanfiction that I read but I am not sure which one. It might also be from a role playing game, riffing on rogues versus fighters. If I did quote you, then it was an oversight. I would be happy to credit the story, because it is a cool comment.

Would Jon let the prisoners die? Or would he have backed away with children at the brink of death? I will leave that up to the imagination. Or ask yourself this - **What would Bloodraven do?**


	19. Brothers and Brothers

**Brothers and Brothers**

If he never ate another fruit tart in his life, Robb would be happy. The Reach was famed for the fertile land that yielded a lush and colorful bounty - red and white grapes, fireplums, peaches, melons, apricots, apples, lemons, oranges, and half a dozen different berries. Lord Caswell's servants rushed here and there with trays of freshly baked pastries with all of these fruits and more. There were golden cakes shaped like roses, swans made of cream resting on beds of tart pomegranate seeds, and spiced honey biscuits dusted with cinnamon and sugar.

"Where is the cheese plate?" Lady Olenna's sharp voice froze the brown haired servant boy ladling cold fruit soup into Mace Tyrell's silver cup.

"The cheese will be served after the cakes." The boy stammered. The Tyrell matriarch raised her eyebrows, and the frightened boy rushed off, leaving Mace with a half filled cup.

"Quite right." a knight simpered. "Dessert without cheese is like a beauty with only one eye."

Lady Olenna was about to unload on the stout man but fortunately for the table, a wheel of buttery cheese arrived, pale white on the outside with a yellow wedge cut out. Margaery Tyrell reached out her dainty white hands, and pierced the wedge with a strange tool, two silver prongs coming from the ivory haft while her right hand cut down with a wide bladed steel knife with four circular holes in the blade.

"Are you staring at my granddaughter's hands?" Olenna said. The eyes at the High Table swiveled to Robb, and he could see smirks on both Willas and Garlan. Lady Catelyn was mortified but Mace was too busy, still focused on the missing soup. Margaery blushed prettily.

"No, my Lady. I have never seen anything like that before." Robb pointed to the fancy tools, now resting next to the cheese on a porcelain plate.

"The cheese? Surely you must have cheese even in the Northern wastelands." Olenna japed.

"Grandmother, he means the cheese fork." Margaery said.

"Do you not have forks in the North? I knew it was cold and harsh up where the Starks live, but I did not realize there was no cutlery." Olenna said.

Robb bit back a retort. "We have forks, and knives and spoons. But we don't have so many." There were three forks to the left of the plate and two knives and a spoon to the right. Nestled between the water and the wine goblet was a fancier inlaid spoon and fork, and there was a second plate to hold a napkin on the left. All the forks, knives and spoons were different sizes and designs. It was all quite confusing.

"I see." The Queen of Thorns softened a bit. "It is only at the High Table. At the other tables, they only have one set, and further down the hall, men eat with only a knife and their hands. The king must inspire the people with his might and grandeur. If you wish to be a king, men must believe that you are the king."

Renly looked every inch a Baratheon king. He was a powerful man, taller than Robb, with broad shoulders, thick coal black hair, and a handsome bearded face. He dressed lavishly, a dark green and gold velvet doublet and a half cape made of cloth of gold fastened with an emerald brooch. The cloak alone cost more than many a suit of plate armor. He wore a jeweled crown adorned with golden antlers. Yet, Robb doubted that Aegon the Conqueror cared at all about forks or plates. Robert Baratheon had loved eating and drinking but he had won the throne with a spiked iron war hammer, not feasts.

It had been two full days since the raven from Storm's End had come. Robb knew that there had been some preparations - wagons packed, and horses readied for the march but the men of the Reach and the Stormlands bickered over who would ride and in what order. In every meal, lords had trudged from the lower tables to plead before Mace Tyrell and his children while other members of the Small Council - Tarly, Fossoway and Rowan - gritted their teeth.

Robb had been given the great honor of sitting next to Queen Margaery on the raised platform of the High Table. His lady mother sat on the other side in between Jon Fossoway and Mathis Rowan. The six members of Robb's honor guard were spread out in the Great Hall, divided by their status, with Patrek Mallister, as Heir to Seagard, with the best seat and Olyvar Frey, as the eighteenth of Lord Walder's sons, the worst. Olyvar was forced to eat with the lowest squires and pages, sitting at a bench at the very far end of the hall with hunting dogs and tomcats.

Robb grimaced as he thought about the meals at Winterfell. Before he departed for the Citadel, his brother had been banished to the back benches on feast days. Lady Catelyn refused to let Jon sit with his siblings, and his father never said a single word. Robb loved his parents dearly but they had treated his half brother poorly. He could see that now, as he looked over the tables and tables of nobles and knights. In the Reach, the highborn scrambled to curry favor with their liege lords. Jon had never done any of that, and never complained about Lady Stark's disdain. My brother is like Ghost - a dire wolf, and yet apart from the pack. Jon deserved a better fate.

* * *

The blunted sword slammed against the steel shield and Robb was forced to give ground to the powerful blows. Ser Garlan was a skilled fighter who used height and reach exceptionally well. Robb had never met Barristan the Bold but as a combination of speed and strength, Garlan was unmatched, except perhaps by the Kingslayer. Robb enjoyed his spars with the Tyrell knight. He could only score five or six touches before Garlan had reached ten, but there was no shame in losing. Better to take bruises in the courtyard and learn, than to defeat overmatched enemies.

Robb staggered backwards and his shield arm dropped, as he feigned exhaustion. When Garlan began an overhand strike, Robb rushed forward, defending with the blade and punching the shield squarely into the breastplate. The steel edge clipped Garlan's chin, and the blade jabbed into the right shoulder of the stunned knight. In a real battle, Robb was not certain he could pierce the heavy steel pauldron but in this spar, he had won the point.

"Well struck, Lord Stark." Garlan wiped the sweat from his brow.

"You are still ahead, Ser. Eight to four." Robb said.

Garlan laughed. He had an easy charm compared to the serious Willas and the prickly Loras. Over the last two days, Robb observed carefully the men from the Reach. They were brave men, skilled at the joust and the melee, armed with pikes, spears and words. The lines of horses seemed endless, palfreys ridden by knights, high spirited destriers bred for war, and plow horses driven by teamsters to pull wagons and siege engines. The largest banner was the crowned black stag on a field of gold but the golden rose of Highgarden outshone every other sigil. A dozen fine tents with Tyrell colors surrounded Renly's green silk pavilion. The Reachmen easily outnumbered the Stormlanders. Bitterbridge was on the Mander River, so many of the great houses of the Reach - Tyrell, Ashford, Merryweather and Fossoway - could easily travel on the rose road. Robb was surprised that besides the green sea turtle of Lord Estermont, the most prominent banners supporting Renly were sworn houses to Highgarden. Further, there were many unknown shields - small lords, or hedge knights who rushed to pledge their fealty to the new King. Renly had secured a great army through marriage and pomp - but a host so quickly gathered could also scatter to the winds.

Robb picked up his sword to continue when an excitable Olyvar Frey burst into the yard, startling several other men at arms. "Lord Stark. A raven has come for you." Olyvar said.

"Then give it to me." Robb placed his shield down and reached out his hand.

"My Lord. The Queen of Thorns - errr, Lady Olenna - has taken it. She sent her guardsmen to inform us. Twin giants they were - taller than the Greatjon." his squire said.

Robb arched his eyebrows and Garlan gave a sheepish look. "Very well. Lead me to her." He said to his anxious squire.

* * *

Robb walked silently to the castle, ignoring the curious eyes of Tyrell retainers. Lady Olenna and her cronies had taken over the cloister garth near the Sept. It was puny compared to the paths and trails of Highgarden, but the green court held a kitchen garden, a terrace for herbs, and wooden trellises for fruit trees. The sweet smell of rosemary, peppermint, and fenugreek mixed with the earthy scents of leeks, cabbages and parsnips. Robb passed Olenna's formidable guards, Arryk and Erryk, and a jester, singing The Bear and the Maiden Fair, while he bounced a ball off his fat buttocks to the amusement of Margaery and her ladies.

Robb cleared his throat loudly, attracting the attention of Olenna Tyrell. Margaery stopped laughing and turned her big brown eyes to him. Her shy sweet smile was almost convincing. Garlan greeted his wife, the dainty and always pleasant Leonette Fossoway. The young girls hushed but an older dark haired woman with exotic Essosi features gazed boldly at Robb.

"Lord Stark. Why do you glower? Is this a Northern custom?" Olenna asked.

"My lady, you know the reason. You have a raven for me." Robb said.

"Ah yes - the raven." The old woman replied. "Tell them what you saw, Maester."

An old man with white hair and a stooped back came over, holding a squawking raven in an iron cage. There were streaks of reddish brown on the bird's black feathers. "Lady Tyrell, the raven arrived this morning with blood on its claws." the Maester squeaked.

"So? Perhaps it attacked another bird or defended itself." Robb said.

"No, My Lord. The blood was from the letter. And it must have been fresh to drip like so on claws and feathers." The old man said to the gasps of many ladies.

"A message written in blood is not the norm. Such a letter attracts curiosity." Olenna said, pointing to the piece of parchment, sealed with a wax dire wolf.

The Reach would be curious of any message from Riverrun, whether it was written in ink or blood. Robb took the note, broke the seal, and read it silently. He kept his face still as the tension grew in the room. Finally, before the Queen of Thorn could snap, he acceded to their interest. "It is from my brother, Jon. He has won a battle and cracked the Tooth."

"A tooth? Did he lose it in fighting?" The sultry dark haired woman asked in a breathy voice.

"The Golden Tooth. Jon has taken the seat of House Lefford and captured many prisoners." Robb left the terse note on the table for Lady Olenna and Margaery to read.

"How did he take the Tooth?" Ser Garlan asked. "That is a hard strong keep and commands the hill road. He could not have besieged the castle in a few days."

"I do not know, Ser. The letter is short." Robb shrugged.

"Will you need paper and a quill to write back to your brother?" Margaery asked.

"Why should I? He is busy at war, while I just wait." Robb said pointedly. He walked out to find his men, leaving the Tyrells to their plots and schemes.

* * *

The next morning, Renly Baratheon was ready to ride. After a sumptuous breakfast, the King came out in his suit of forest green plate mail, chased with gold fluting, polished to a mirror shine. Renly wore a sallet helm crowned with a great rack of golden antlers whose tips added an extra foot and a half to the top. Robb was no maester but even he knew that in battle, the force of a blow to the useless antlers would be transmitted to the head. Such a shock from a mace or a hammer could easily be fatal. Flanked by his knights in rainbow cloaks, Renly waved to the masses, the visor opened so the crowd could see his easy smile.

Behind Renly, followed the chivalry of the Reach and the Stormlands. Loras Tyrell, as Lord Commander, rode first but the six other Rainbow Guards formed a semicircle with their multicolored silk cloaks billowing in the wind. Robb was in the next group, next to Randyll Tarly and Jon Fossoway. The genial Fossoway knights of Cider Hall and New Barrell were good company but the bristly Lord of Horn Hill was not. His two sons attended him, one pale and very stout and the other lean and robust. There were other great Lords with their heirs and most trusted retainers - Estermont and Rowan, Caron and Hightower, Oakheart, Selmy, Crane, and Tyrell cousins and uncles. Mace and Garlan though remained at Bitterbridge.

Robb grimaced. There were far too many knights, and not enough other troops - light cavalry to skirmish, foot soldiers with pikes, archers and crossbowmen. He guessed that like Roose Bolton and Rickard Karstark, the Tyrell men would ride with the infantry and the supply wagons. At the Twins, Robb had split his troops deliberately to surprise the Kingslayer and break the siege with his cavalry. But Stannis Baratheon would certainly not be surprised, given the terms for the parley. Robb hoped that they were not walking into an ambush.

Another round of cheers came from the crowd. Robb craned his neck and saw the elegant green wheelhouse, pulled by 6 heavy coursers and decorated with golden flowers. The Rose of Highgarden waved to the crowd and the wizened Queen of Thorns joined her. At least, it was not the obscenely gigantic wheelhouse that Cersei and the royal children rode. That double decked monstrosity pulled by forty horses was too wide to pass through the Winterfell gates. A gallant Renly rode back and planted a light kiss on his wife's cheek. Then, Tyrell guards helped Margaery and Olenna into the carriage and closed the door.

Robb tied the saddlebags, full of bread, hard cheese, dried fruit and meat, to the pommel of his white stallion. He drank deeply and handed the empty waterskin to Olyvar to refill. Grey Wind had feasted on deer last night and the dire wolf was eager to run free. Robb heartily agreed. He had stayed at Bitterbridge for three long nights and was more than happy to leave. The sooner they finished with Stannis, the sooner he could return to Riverrun.

* * *

The sun was still high in the sky, although on the descent. They rode south and would reach the clear waters of the Blueburn in time for dinner, before following the river an hour more to the East. The Blueburn River flowed from Longtable in the Reach to the western parts of the Stormlands. They would meet Stannis at the river's end, north of Summerhall.

Robb enjoyed the lush green fields on horseback with Grey Wind at his side. This was the Reach proper, a well populated area watered by the immense Mander and its two daughters, the Blueburn and the Cockleswhent. He rode alone, with lady Catelyn speaking to nobles from the Reach and his guards exchanged tales of their feats in battle with admiring squires. He was surprised when two palfreys approached, with the Rose of Highgarden in the lead.

"Talisa. I would speak to Lord Robb. If you could return to my grandmother." Margaery said.

The dark haired healer nodded and turned her horse back. Robb was surprised by Lady Maegyr's presence on this excursion.

"Talisa was born in Volantis. Stannis Baratheon has a red priestess of R'hllor, a witch and a shadow binder. In Volantis, they worship R'hllor. They say the Temple of the Lord of Light in the city is several times larger than the Sept of Baelor." Margaery explained.

"And you think she can help us against this woman?" Robb asked.

Margaery shrugged. "It can't hurt. We know nothing about this Red God. This woman has burnt statues of the Seven on Dragonstone, and claims to have seen visions in the flames for Stannis. Is it mummery or is there something more? I had hoped Lady Talisa might tell us."

"That is thoughtful, your Grace. It is something my brother Jon would do." Robb said.

"Lord Stark, tell me - what more do you know of the Golden Tooth?" Margaery asked, batting her lovely eyes.

Robb snorted at her brazen effort. In her own way, Margaery was as brassy as Lady Olenna. Last night, news of the capture of the Golden Tooth spread. Renly's bannermen tried to ask Catelyn and Honor Guard questions half a dozen ways but they could give no greater insights. Randyll Tarly's face had turned an angry red when his mother professed to know nothing of the war efforts. "You have seen everything I have." He replied before relenting. "Your grace, Jon sent that one raven. I can only guess at how he cracked the Tooth."

"Surely you know more. You gave your brother command of the army. He must be following your orders." Margaery insisted.

Robb shook his head. "I did not give Jon orders. We discussed possibilities, targets, and potential outcomes - how far should the troops march into the Westerlands, what castles to attack. Jon's counsel does not always agree with mine, and on the field, he is his own man. He must be - when things change in battle, so must the general's orders."

"You trust your half brother much, my Lord." Margaery said.

"He is my blood. I am Lord of Winterfell, your grace. I trust Jon to lead my men. And as for how he took the Tooth, my guess would be with a clever trick. Attacking with speed and surprise is the best way to victory." Robb said.

Margaery cocked her head to the side. "You must think us silly and slow. Renly took three days to ride for the Stormlands. And my father, Mace is known more for feasts, not speed. My grandmother has heard what Lady Catelyn said - that we are the knights of the summer and winter is coming. Tell me, my Lord - do you think Renly's army will wither away?"

Robb thought his mother should not say such things to the lords of the Reach. "I have sparred with several of your men - your brother Garlan, but also the Fossoways, Bryce Caron, Robar Royce, and the purple knight. They were skilled with the sword but good fighters do not always make a good army."

Margaery reacted with surprise. "What do you mean? Men train for years to fight with lance and sword."

"And that may win jousts and melees. But a battle is not won by single combat. A good army has discipline, speed, supplies, and a mix of troops. In songs, the knights charge gallantly ahead to victory. The Kingslayer did that at the Whispering Wood, and we slaughtered his men. No army wins with one troop type alone, unless they face idiots." Robb said.

"But.. Renly only took the knights. The archers and infantry will take a week to follow." Lady Margaery stammered.

"In good weather, and on the open field, Renly's knights would win. But if you gave my brother a week to prepare with cavalry, archers and pikes, Jon would bleed you badly." Robb said.

"We will have reinforcements. Even with the knights alone, we outnumber Stannis. And Garlan will bring twenty five thousand more men. Our forces will overwhelm them." she said.

"Aye, and I do not understand that. Stannis is said to be a good battle commander. My father says that he won the war against the Greyjoys defeating the Iron Fleet. The Ironborn are not easy to beat at sea. Why should Stannis offer battle if he had no hope of victory? He is no dreamer, boasting of victories. He has been blooded in war, unlike your men." Robb said.

"Renly says that our swords and lances are so great that with a single charge, he will break the enemy host." Margaery said. She sounded more hopeful than certain.

"Anyone can boast. And all armies can lose. Bad terrain. Poor weather. Surprise Attack. Your bannermen see war as a tourney to win glory. That is why they are summer knights. War is not a song. Stannis will not an easy opponent." Robb said.

"Do you know what he may do?" Margaery asked, worried.

"I do not. I have never met Stannis, nor stepped foot on the Stormlands. I do not know what forces he commands. But I know this - an army of sheep led by a stag is better than an army of stags led by a sheep. Stannis is not a sheep. He will fight to the end." Robb said.

* * *

In two days, they reached the terminus of the Blueburn. With the march guided by Lord Tarly, Renly had only stopped at one castle, Grassfield Keep. And that had only been a quick lunch without singers, jugglers or jesters. Hedge knights, sellswords, and camp followers swelled their ranks along the way, but that did not slow down the pace. Even the wheelhouse kept up, with fresh horses provided by House Meadows of Grassy Vale.

Robb had not seen Renly for much of the trip. The king spent much of his time in the wheelhouse or with Loras Tyrell. He had encountered Margaery and Talisa on their palfreys, escorted by Ser Emmon Cuy or Ser Guyard Morrigan of the Rainbow Guard, and spoken to the Fossoway men and Mathis Rowan. Their company was preferable to the dour and suspicious Tarly. He was a hard taskmaster and made everyone uncomfortable, including both of his sons. Even Lady Olenna shied from provoking the Lord of Horn Hill.

That night, they camped on a windswept plain, with yellow grass as far as the eye could see. Renly had summoned the bannermen to his green and gold pavilion and had requested the presence of House Stark as well. Lady Catelyn was concerned about the meeting.

"Robb, will you fight in the battle?" she asked, worried. His guards had stepped outside to give them privacy.

"Mother, tomorrow will be a parley. If the stags have sense, there won't be fighting." Robb said.

"The Baratheons are known for their temper. And Renly may want you to fight for him. Kings do not forget such things." Catelyn said.

Robb strapped the Valyrian steel dagger to his belt. He expected no trouble but better to be prepared. "Any man can crown himself. Renly does not hold the Iron Throne, and I have not bent the knee. If we are attacked, we will fight back. But for now, the North will only observe."

"Perhaps, we shouldn't be here, caught in the middle between two armies." Catelyn said.

Robb shook his head. "We must know what the Baratheons plan. If Renly triumphs, and he gives us men, we can crush Tywin in the Riverlands. If the Baratheons unite, then they will hold the Iron Throne, and Joffrey will lose his head. And if Stannis wins, I would take the measure of the man. We can bend the knee if Stannis destroys the Lannisters." Robb said.

"You are consumed by revenge. Wars need not be fought until the last drop of blood. I have lost my lord husband. I do not want to bury a son." she cried.

"Mother, this is not for my revenge. I fight for our family. The Iron Throne beheaded the Lord of Winterfell. My ancestors have marched to war for much less. The Kings of Winter would only kneel to a dragon - not a lion or a stag." Robb said.

"Those times are past. Bend to knee to save your life, if you must. If not for yourself, then think of Bran and Rickon, so they grow up with a brother." Catelyn said.

"I do not want to die. But if death comes, let me die for House Stark. Father would do the same. And if I die, Jon will avenge me. He will not rest until my killers are dead." Robb said.

"But your brothers and sisters. What about them?" Catelyn said.

"Jon will protect them. Who will fight for House Stark? Even if Bran could still walk, he is a boy of nine. Sansa is trapped in King's Landing. Arya is lost. And Rickon has four name days. If I die, the Lannisters will try to kill my brothers and use my sisters to control Winterfell. You know that, Mother. Jon would defend them. He would be their best hope."

* * *

With those last words, Robb left his tent, with a somber Catelyn and his men trailing behind. The green pavilion was larger, far more spacious than the command tent that Robb had used on the march down from Winterfell. There were comforts that would have looked at home in a castle boudoir: a feather mattress with satin pillows, a wood and copper tub, and bottles of Arbor and Dornish wine with a crystal glass decanter and a complete set of silver cups. Squires had set out a silver bowl of ripe peaches, plums and pears.

Robb was more drawn to the yew longbow set next to the king's armor. A full quiver of arrows rested on a nearby hook, a few broad arrowheads for hunting but most with short bodkin points, better to punch holes through mail armour. The marcher lords of the Stormlands were justly famous for the skill of their bowman, sharpened by centuries of beating back Dornish invaders. Many houses clustered around the Red Mountains, that separated Dorne, the Reach, and the Stormlands. The Tarlys, the Dondarrions, and the Daynes pledged loyalty to different lieges but they were all strong allies in war. Robb wondered if Renly had any skill with the bow.

"Our scouts have sent a message back from Storm's End. Stannis has a force of five thousand, and only a few bannermen - House Celtigar, Sunglass, Bar Emmon, and Velayron. He has less than five hundred horse, and many of those free riders in boiled leather. They are not well supplied, but their ships have blockaded Shipbreaker Bay." Matthis Rowan reported.

"Our armored lances will sweep away their cavalry with our first charge. Let me lead the knights for you, your grace. I will show them the fate of traitors." Loras declared. The commander of the Rainbow Guard was too eager to see the slight hesitation on Renly's face.

"We met here to parley. Stannis is your brother. Should you not speak to him first before considering battle?" Robb said.

Randyll Tarly sneered. "We have an army. He has an army. We should crush Stannis now when he is weak. Are you afraid of battle, Stark?"

"I have won plenty of battles, Tarly." Robb turned again to Renly. "Your grace, do you wish to be the King of the Highgarden or to rule over the Seven Kingdoms?"

Renly looked surprised. "The second of course."

"Then the day will come when House Celtigar, Velayron, and men near Dragonstone will pledge their banners to you and Queen Margaery. Why fight now, if there is no need? I am no Maester but the Targaryen kings were strongest when there was a Targaryen Hand. The founder of House Baratheon was the first Hand of the King for his half brother Aegon the Conqueror. Why not have a Baratheon Hand for a Baratheon King?" Robb asked.

"But my father Mace was promised the position of Hand." Loras sputtered.

"Quiet, Loras. Let Lord Stark speak and explain his thinking." Olenna said.

"There are many positions that can be awarded to the Tyrells and their bannermen. The Small Council, the City Watch, the Kingsguard. Offer to appoint Stannis Hand of the King. Your brother has sat on the Small Council for many years. He knows the power of the Hand." Robb said.

"That will not satisfy Stannis. He wants the Throne for himself and his heirs." Rowan said.

"He has only a daughter of ten. Shireen cannot inherit. If he has no more children, then you would be the Heir to the Throne anyway. And if he should have another son, you can promise a betrothal with your children. You can bind your families together in marriage. If you made peace, House Baratheon would rule for centuries, like the Targaryens." Robb argued.

Renly smiled sadly. "You have never met my brother, Lord Stark. He is hard and stubborn, and does not forgive slights. He still believes he was cheated out of Storm's End."

Stannis was cheated, Robb thought. The older brother should have inherited their family home. "Then give him Storm's End. No man is as accursed as a kinslayer. You may not wield the sword that kills him, but it would be your men following your orders. He is your brother. What would the Gods say if he died at your hand?"

"I will treat with him. But my brothers and I have never been close. Robert was too busy whoring and Stannis grinding his teeth. But if this does not work, we will battle." Renly said.

* * *

They rode to an unnamed field, the grass yellow and orange from summer's end. There was a high ridge over the plain, that could be reached only by a stony path. Robb wore armor, sword and dagger but no helmet. His shield was strapped to the back of his white courser and Grey Wind cantered at his side. Ser Loras and Queen Margaery rode at the sides of Renly while Robb formed the third line : Lady Catelyn, Lords Tarly, Rowan and Fossoway. The Rainbow Guard followed closely behind with Lady Talisa.

In the distance, Robb could see them approaching. Stannis rode in front with two figures at his sides, a pale woman with the hair of burnished copper all dressed in red, and a man with a weathered face in plain brown and gray. Heavily armored men carried the banner of a black stag enclosed in a red heart wreathed in orange flames. Robb took a closer look at Stannis. He was a large man - tall, broad shouldered with dark blue eyes. His black hair was thin, and he had a close cropped beard on his square jaw. There was a harshness about him that betrayed a lack of mercy in thin pale lips and hollow cheeks. This was not a man who enjoyed mummers or jugglers. Unlike Renly who wore polished green plate mail and the crown of golden antlers, Stannis dressed plainly in a grey wool tunic over boiled leather, black breeches, and a simple black belt with sword and dagger. He had no need of a crown to appear a king.

There was no love lost between the two brothers. After brief greetings, the two brothers introduced their companions. Stannis snorted at the Tyrells, and was distinctly unimpressed with Renly's marriage. In return, Renly japed about the reasons behind Stannis's new found religion and the buxom Red Priestess. Melisandre declared that Stannis was Azor Ahai reborn, amidst salt and smoke, under a bleeding star. She did not respond to Renly's joke about hams.

Stannis turned to Robb. "I am surprised to see you here, Lord Stark. Your father supported my claim. His integrity cost him his head when he declared Joffrey illegitimate."

"Did you know that the royal children were bastards?" Robb asked.

"I suspected that, along with Jon Arryn." Stannis said.

"Then why did you not tell your brothers? Had you informed Robert, Cersei Lannister and her brother would have lost their heads. And Joffrey would be exiled." Robb said.

"He would not have believed me." Stannis said.

"He would have believed you and Jon Arryn. Or if you had told my father directly, he would have believed you and Ned Stark. Instead, you disappeared to Dragonstone. Jon Arryn has been dead a full year. The Kingdoms burn because you stayed silent." Robb said.

"What is done is done. I am the rightful King now. The Iron Throne is mine by right. All those who deny that, are rebels and usurpers." Stannis said bluntly.

"Everyone denies you. Dorne, the Reach, The Westerlands, and the North. Who proclaims you king? The Lord of Light? He has no swords or spears. You have only a few thousand men. I have the might of the Reach and the Stormlands. Acknowledge me as the heir and I will make you my Hand." Renly said.

"You should not jest about R'hllor. He will save the world from darkness through his chosen one." Melisandre said.

"I am the older. It is my duty to rule. What have you done to deserve the Iron Throne? Sit in meetings of the Small Council and make japes? Ride on a horse at tourneys and be beaten by better men? These qualify you to be a jester or a hedge knight, not a king." Stannis said.

Before Renly could utter an ugly retort, Robb spoke up. "Lord Baratheon, if you became Hand, you would rule. Your brother, Robert, and the Mad King may have worn crowns but it was Jon Arryn and Tywin Lannister who ruled. The Realms were prosperous and at peace then. Why not serve as your brother's Hand? You would command armies, dispense justice, and draft laws. The Seven Kingdoms need a strong Hand. Why could it not be you?"

Stannis ground his teeth. "It is my right. It belongs to my family."

"Your family is Baratheon. And there would be a Baratheon King. Joffrey claims to be half stag but he is all lion. If you fight your brother, the Lannisters may win. Or even the Dornish. If you join together, House Baratheon will be victorious. The North will bend the knee when my Lord Father receives justice." Robb said.

"King Stannis will defeat his enemies. The Lord of Light favors him." Melisandre said fervently.

"And what of Shireen?" Stannis said.

"Your brother can promise a marriage to a great Lord. And if you should have a son in the future, and Queen Margaery has a daughter, perhaps they can wed." Robb said.

Stannis scowled as he looked at his brother and Margaery. Robb could not tell whether he was merely scornful or seriously considering the offer. Stannis was a proud and hard man but the Hand of the King was the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. Robb doubted that Renly who was so fond of mummers and banquets would be an attentive king. Stannis had attended the Small Council since the Rebellion. For a moment, there appeared to be a chance, however small, that stubborn Stannis might be swayed. Then Renly opened his mouth.

Renly's hand slid inside his cloak, and Stannis immediately reached for his sword. Smiling, Renly offered a golden peach in his right hand. "Would you like one, brother? You've never tasted anything so sweet." He took a large bite, and juice ran down the corner of his mouth.

"I did not come here to eat." Stannis fumed.

Robb did not understand what was happening. Neither did his lady Mother, the Tyrells, or Renly's great lords. They had been negotiating before Renly took out the piece of fruit.

"A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again. Life is short, Stannis. And as the Starks say, Winter is coming." Renly said, throwing away the fruit. Robb noticed that most of the peach had been wasted.

"Are you threatening me?" Stannis demanded. "I have fought battles before you could even hold a sword." His rage was plain to see.

"Ah yes, I remember. The Siege at Storm's End. Where we had to eat horses, dogs, cats and rats. You performed so well during that battle." Renly japed.

There was something ugly there, unsaid but full of tension. Stannis and Renly Baratheon had suffered for an entire year at Storm's End, besieged by the Tyrells who feasted outside the castle. Had Mace Tyrell went to the Riverlands and reinforced Rhaegar, Robert would have lost the war. Instead, the small garrison at Storm's End suffered greatly for Robert's glory and Stannis commanded that garrison. Robb realized that Stannis had only been his age, sixteen name days, during the siege while Renly was little older than Rickon. He wondered what scars that battle inflicted on both Baratheon brothers.

"Enough." Stannis stormed. "This mummery has gone too far. I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. For the sake of our mother who bore us, I will give you one night to consider. Bend the knee, and you will keep Storm's End and a place in my council. Else I will destroy you when the sun rises tomorrow." He turned his horse and rode off.

The man in brown and gray said nothing. But the red priestess looked to Renly and smiled. "The night is dark and full of terrors. Look to your sins, Lord Renly." Stannis and his followers left, leaving them with that cryptic comment.

* * *

"Prepare to fight, my Lords." Renly said smiling. The young king jested with his Rainbow guard and Ser Loras once again asked to lead the charge.

"What do you think of the red woman?" Margaery asked Talisa. The healer rode next to them, as the order of the march broke down.

"Your grace, she frightens me. She wore a ruby on the red gold choker at the neck. Only shadowbinders wear such a thing and they use it to conjure evil magicks." Talisa said.

"Magicks? Perhaps she will teach Stannis how to laugh or perform in bed." Renly japed.

"My lady, what is a shadowbinder?" Robb asked.

"I do not know, Ser, but shadowbinders are said to cast the most sinister spells, even darker than the warlocks of Qarth. With dark sorcery, they can bind shadows to do their will. There is a ruined city in Essos called Stygai, full of the walking dead. The shadowbinders go there to consort with demons or worse." Talisa said.

"What a bunch of bollocks. You can listen to these prophecies and tales of witchcraft but the swords of the Reach will destroy Stannis. Her magic is a sham." Tarly ranted.

Lord Tarly was decidedly unpleasant, and Margaery's face showed great annoyance, before she hid behind her bland and charming mask. She was a skilled mummer, Robb thought. His horse skittered, avoiding something in the grass. Robb looked down at a sharp arrowpoint. It was old and rusted, but the point was still sharp. Curious, Robb dismounted and looked around. There were many arrowheads here, buried under the tall grass.

"Robb, what is the matter?" Lady Catelyn said. Two knights of the Rainbow Guard paused, wondering if there was any danger.

"I found arrows, a great deal of them. There is something odd here." Robb looked at the high ridge, and suddenly he understood. "I know this place."

"But Lord Stark, you said you have never been to the Stormlands."a puzzled Margaery said. By now, Renly and the other lords had stopped their horses.

"My brother, Jon Snow, has told me of this place." Robb's hands opened out. "We will not be the first army to charge over this field. A hundred years ago, this grass turned blood red with the deaths of ten thousand men. This is Redgrass Field, where Daemon Blackfyre fought the combined Targaryen forces. He would have won but for that." Robb pointed upwards to the stony high ground far above them. "That is the Weeping Ridge. The Black Dragon was winning until Bloodraven and the Raven's Teeth reached the top. From there, they rained volleys of arrows down, killing Daemon's sons, and the Black Dragon himself."

"Your brother told you of this?" asked a surprised Renly.

"Jon and I have spent much time discussing war. He has a good head for battle. Stannis chose the meeting ground. He must be planning for his men to take the ridge, so they can shoot your knights when they charge. You should post archers there." Robb said.

Lord Rowan looked sourly at Tarly. "We have no archers, Lord Stark, only knights." Rowan said.

"What does that matter? Our armor is the highest quality the Reach has to offer. Arrows cannot penetrate plate mail." Loras boasted.

"The Black Dragon wore the best steel, as did his sons Aegon and Aemon. Bloodraven killed all three. A volley of arrows is different from a single archer. And the Ridge is high up. The arrows will come down with great speed, enough to find weaknesses in your armor or helmet. The arrows could strike your horses, and then your charge would fail." Robb said.

Jon Fossoway shed his genial manner and took charge. "This was clever of Stannis. I will send my knights to secure the Ridge. They may not have bows, but they can prevent anyone else from shooting. And if the battle goes on for days, archers from the Reach will join us."

Robb nodded. The Weeping Ridge required a long hard climb over stony mountainous ground. It was difficult to reach and not a natural place to put troops. He wondered what other tricks Stannis had in store.

* * *

That night, Renly asked to speak with Robb alone. Olyvar Frey and Lucas Blackwood stood outside, chatting with Brienne, Emmon Cuy and Red Robar Royce. Renly had washed and bathed just recently. A silver goblet was balanced precariously on the edge of the copper and wood tub, and the scent of lavender and dried herbs filled the air. The would be king wore a dark green velvet doublet with golden stags, and sat in a high slung leather camp chair. He offered the other to Robb.

"Lord Stark, I want to thank you for your insights this morning. Fossoway and Estermont men have secured the Weeping Ridge. Any archers in Stannis's forces will not gain the high ground. I am indebted to you. I would not want my knights to be ambushed from above." Renly said. There were no hints of smiles or laughter in his voice.

"I am glad, your grace. But are you certain you must fight your brother?" Robb asked.

Renly put down the glass decanter and sat back in the chair. He looked older in the light of the candles that dripped wax on the black feathered quill. "I loved Stannis once, a long time ago. But the older I became, the more his flaws were clear. When the war was over, Robert made me Lord of Storm's End. I was a boy of seven but even then, I could feel Stannis's disdain. He believed he deserved our family home. Perhaps so, but why be angry at me? I had no part in the decision. He has never forgiven me for that. When I smile, Stannis thinks I mock him. When I joke, I am a fool. When I enjoy living, I am a frivolous twit. Since I took his castle, I could do nothing right in his eyes." Renly said.

But you did take his castle, Robb thought. Storm's End belonged to Stannis as the heir to House Baratheon. The Targaryen Kings gave Dragonstone as a seat for the crown prince but Stannis would never have inherited the throne. Cersei and Tywin Lannister would not have allowed that. "I am sorry for your troubles. But Kings have disliked their Hands before."

Renly turned keen shrewd eyes on Robb. "Stannis would make a terrible Hand. Oh yes, he is clever and tough but a Hand needs allies. A Hand needs to win friends and influence people. Stannis will tell you to do something because it is your duty. Fat lot of good that will do with Tywin Lannister or even the Tyrells."

"I am sorry that it has come to this. I would never wish to face my brother in battle."

"You are Starks. Wolves band together like packs. It is not the same with the Baratheons. Stags are solitary beasts who rut and fight. Robert was much like that. He rutted in all Seven Kingdoms. He called it making the eight." Renly said with a slight grimace before turning his full attention to Robb. "Lord Stark, will you fight with me in this battle?"

"I have only six men. I doubt that would make a difference in the battle." Robb said drily.

"It is not only your sword. You are a good leader of men. Had you not pointed out the high ridge, my knights would have been ambushed. Lord Rowan and Lord Fossoway have not known you for long, but already they admire your military acumen."

That is because they dislike Randyll Tarly, Robb thought. "Your grace, the North has not declared for anyone in the war. We seek justice for my father's death."

"And who will most likely to grant that to you? There are three contenders for the crown. Joffrey the Illborn, and whoever Tywin supports. Stannis, without support from anyone. And myself, with both the Reach and the Stormlands behind me. Stannis consorts with a Red Priestess who burns statues of the Seven. The Faith will not accept that. What if she destroys godswoods for this Lord of Light? Stannis would tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. I am best suited for the Iron Throne. I am no drunk like Robert, nor a bitter zealot like Stannis. I would care for smallfolk and highborn alike. I would be a good friend to the North."

Robb was about to respond when a sudden gust of wind flung open the door of the tent. He heard Grey Wind's howl, and then saw the shadows on the silk walls move. The candles guttered out, and he felt a strange chill. The shadow was black on the green silk, and it raised a sword. Robb barked a word of warning, and drew his sword out to parry that strange insubstantial and yet deadly blade as it sliced down at Renly's neck.

There was no sound when the swords met. Instead, Robb shivered as pain lanced through his arm. Renly had dived to the floor, his face a mask of horror. Grey Wind burst through the door, rushing to his master's side. "Gods!" Robb screamed. The shadow had turned to him, and he could see in the head the features of a Baratheon - large eyes, a heavy brow, a strong jutting chin. But the shadow was not Renly's, but Stannis, with a hollow skull like face, and a fringe of hair that went from the temples to the chin.

Brienne, Ser Robar and Ser Emmon charged through the door. The shadow raised both arms, towering over Renly. Again, Robb stepped forward to block the blade. The swords met, and Robb staggered from the blow, dropping to his knees. Shadow Stannis advanced again toward Renly, ready to thrust the nightmare blade down at the would be king. Robb leaped up, and plunged his steel sword through the umbral form. The face, shrouded in black and red, turned and with a sneer, backhanded Robb into the table and the decanter shattered on the floor, spilling Arbor gold on the grass.

Grey Wind growled and lunged for the shadow. The dire wolf's powerful jaws closed on the shadow's body, but just like the steel sword of his master, there was no effect. The teeth closed without harm to the eldritch creation.

"For the King!" shouted the three knights of the Rainbow guard. Emmon Cuy threw himself over Renly's body. Robar brought his two handed blade down on the shadow blade in an attempt to disarm. The shade's weapon was forced down into the ground, short of Renly, but then the ghost merely dropped the blade, and it vanished into thin air. The shadow walked forward, smashed Ser Emmon to the side like a fly, and then wrapped two large spectral hands around Renly's throat.

Brienne grabbed a candle. There are only a few left in the pavilion that had not guttered out. She thrust boldly at the monster, and the wax hissed as it touched the sorcerous form. The shadow swung about, one huge hand still choking Renly, and ghastly black eyes on Brienne and Robar. The right arm of the shade clenched, and a dark axe appeared, summoned out of the depths of Hell.

Robb stood up. Lucas Blackwood and Olyvar Frey were at his side, trying to drag him away from the fiendish threat. Robb resisted, refusing to abandon Renly to a brutal and vile death. The spectre of Stannis, an abomination to the old Gods and the Seven, filled him with loathing. Robb grabbed at the dagger at his belt, his hand on the dragonbone hilt. Nothing was deeper and sharper than Valyrian steel, forged with magic from long ago.

Robb rushed forward and plunged the dagger into the shadow's left arm. The ghost of Stannis screamed in pain, dropping an ashen Renly to the ground. The axe, blood red over black, swiped down, hurtling toward Robb's head. He managed to throw himself aside, and the enchanted axe only landed a glancing blow on his right shoulder. He was numb, ice spreading through his arm and chest. Something was very wrong. The room turned dark and cold, colder than any winter storm in the Wolfswood. Voices called for him, and a distraught wolf howled.

There was shouting but Robb could not hear. Throngs of people - knights, ladies, men at arms, lords - surged into the room, babbling and yelling and getting into each other's way. Everything turned blurry and hazy. He tried to speak, or move, or do anything but his legs stumbled and collapsed. A stooped figure and other women stood over him with candles. There were cries of shock as the light revealed a pallid and wan Renly. But Robb knew no more. The Lord of Winterfell succumbed to the cold and dark, and entered a dark dreamless slumber.

* * *

He woke up, his mouth dry and his eyes blinking, as the light filtered into the tent. He was on some sort of bed, clearly not his simple sleep sack, and he could feel shaggy smoke grey fur, and the smell of the dire wolf. Grey Wind's head peaked up, and those hard yellow eyes looked at him, before a long and wet tongue licked him in the face. Robb's amused grunt attracted immediate attention.

"Oh good, you are finally awake." There was a smile on the long and pretty face of Talisa Maegyr. She was a full white apron over her simple gray dress and she handled him a cup of cold water. Robb had never tasted anything so refreshing. His mind began to reconstruct the events of the last hours - speaking to Renly, the black shadow with the face of Stannis, the bitter cold.

Robb sat up abruptly, and groaned when his arm and shoulder throbbed. "Wait, what happened to the battle?" he said.

The tent flaps opened, and Patrek Mallister rushed in. "Lord Stark, you are awake. Thank the Seven. I will send someone to tell Lady Catelyn immediately." the man said.

"Hold. Ser Patrek, who won the battle between Stannis and Renly?"

"Battle, My Lord? There was no battle. But the Tyrells have put Olyvar Frey and Ser Lucas on trial. Lady Stark would be at your side, but she is speaking for them." Patrek said.

"WHAT?" Robb swung his legs over to the side. His feet felt sluggish and his head throbbed. He stood up shakily, and Patrek rushed to support his injured right side.

"Lord Stark, you should not stand. You are still hurt." Talisa said.

"Lady Talisa, my men are in danger. Ser Patrek, bring me there." Robb said.

* * *

He shuffled slowly out of the tent with the dire wolf leading the way. As he walked out, Robin Flint joined the small group. The other guards, Ser Donnell and Owen, were at his mother's side. Robb gritted his teeth and walked as quickly as possible, but his legs felt like jelly. Grey Wind snarled, and the soldiers backed away, before pointing and whispering.

Patrek and Robin led him to a large clearing. On an elevated platform, five figures in plain tunics were forced to kneel, hands bound behind their backs. Even at this distance, Robb could see the bruised faces of Olyvar, Lucas, and the three Rainbow Guard members. The Tyrells sat on elegant golden heart chairs decorated with roses. Queen Margaery and Lady Olenna flanked a fat Mace Tyrell. Pacing back and forth was an agitated and shouting Loras.

Robb forced himself to speed up, ignoring stiff hips and aching legs. Many more people began to realize his presence as Grey Wind nosed forward. On the dais, Margaery saw him first, and then a hush fell over the crowd, when the dire wolf burst forth to the shock of both Catelyn Stark and Loras Tyrell. The prisoners raised their heads, and the rest of Robb's guard, surrounded their wounded lord, wary of any confrontation.

"WHAT in the Seven Hells is going on here?" Robb shouted. The eyes of the entire crowd, Tyrell, Fossoway, Tarly, Rowan, and a dozen other great Lords, were on him.

"Lord Stark, you have woken." Ser Garlan said with relief. The Tyrell knight stepped forward, and motioned for the three free members of the Rainbow Guard to stand down.

"Why are my men being tried?" Robb asked.

Garlan exchanged a look with an embarrassed Loras. "Ser Loras said they had failed in protecting their king. He accused your guardsmen of lying and cowardice." Garlan said.

"Did you even ask them what happened in the tent?" Robb.

"They lied about a shadow attacking with a sword and an axe. And that it strangled Renly with its bare hands." Loras cried.

Robb looked at the prisoners. The fresh bruises made it clear they had been beaten recently. He turned back to the Tyrells with scorn. "We were attacked by foul magic. A shadow tried to kill Renly. Brienne and these four men risked their lives. Ser Emmon threw his body in front of the king. Brienne and Ser Robar fought bravely after the shadow knocked me down. I am certain my men and your Rainbow guards told the same story." Robb said.

"But, but…" Loras said.

"What proof do you have of this, Lord Stark?" Mace Tyrell asked pompously.

"Be quiet." Lady Olenna's sharp voice cut through the chatter. "Lord Stark, what exactly happened?"

"Renly and I were speaking. The door of the tent blew open, and the candles began to go out. The shadow moved along the walls and then drew a sword. I blocked it with my blade but the blow knocked me back. Then I saw the face. It was Stannis Baratheon - some horrible spectre conjured by that red priestess out of Hell. We tried to fight but it barely noticed our attacks. Nothing could stop the shadow from wrapping its hands around Renly's neck. Finally, I stabbed the shade, and it released him."

"But, the knights failed to defend the King." Loras said.

"You, Ser, are a dolt." Robb hissed. "None of our swords did anything. I put six inches of steel through the shadow and it had no effect. Grey Wind could not hurt it. Ser Robar disarmed the creature and it summoned a shadow axe." He pointed to the prisoners on the platform. "They fought bravely. You dishonor yourself, and not them, by your actions."

"If it was invulnerable to weapons, how did you defeat the shadow?" Olenna asked.

"Our swords were useless. But Valyrian steel was not. I plunged the Valyrian steel dagger into the creature's left arm. The shadow screamed, dropped Renly and melted away. The axe hit me, and I remember little after that." Robb said.

The crowd had gone silent, as they digested the astonishing story. When he finished, the whispers began and Robb heard the words Young Wolf and Bloody Starks said by many lords.

"Garlan, release the prisoners." Olenna said. The Tyrell knight nodded to his grandmother, ignored his father and younger brother, and untied Brienne and the others.

Mathis Rowan stepped forward. "This may explain why Stannis's forces withdrew. Our spies say on the same night King Renly was attacked, Stannis was injured badly on his left arm."

"Stannis was outnumbered. He might have retreated due to fear of our forces." Lord Tarly said.

"That would not explain why he has not been seen by his men. The deserters say since that night, only the Red Priestess gives orders in the camp." Rowan retorted.

"This Red Priestess may be responsible for more. A raven arrived today from Fellwood saying that they believe Cortnay Penrose was murdered and thrown off the drum tower of Storm's End. Perhaps this witch did the same trick." Jon Fossoway said.

A tall older man with silver hair stroked an elegant silver beard. He had large ears and looked very much like his house sigil - a red gold fox with a prominent snout. "If this be magic, then there is little chance that it can be resisted. If Renly dies, then Stannis is his heir. We must consider what happens then."

Garlan prevented a distraught Ser Loras from drawing his blade. "Lord Florent, my husband, your king, has not died." Queen Margaery said coldly.

"But he has not awoken, my lady. The maesters do not know if he will ever wake." Florent said.

The crowd became restless and uneasy. Robb was shocked at the lack of feeling in this crowd. Only Loras and the Rainbow Guard seemed eager to avenge their king. The others were busy planning their futures. "My Lords. You cannot possibly think of following Stannis." Robb cried.

"Renly has no heir of his blood. If Ser Penrose is dead, the garrison may surrender. Elwood Meadows is a green boy of twenty. He has not the courage to hold the castle." Florent said.

"Stannis sent a shadow assassin to kill his brother. He is a would-be kinslayer who dabbles in foul sorcery. Do you think his Red Witch will stop at these deaths? What other atrocities will she commit in her Red God's name?" Robb said.

"Lord Stark, at the Red Temple of Volantis, the High Priest burns people to death as a sacrifice. They say only Death can pay for Life." Talisa said.

"If you would follow such a man, then you deserve your fate. Old Gods or New, nothing is more cursed than a kinslayer." Robb said, walking away.

* * *

Robb was famished and thirsty. Garlan had offered the use of his pavilion and Tyrell servants ran about, with heaping platters of food. Robb guzzled an entire jug of water and gobbled down slices of hearty bread with bits of cheese. He would have eaten the entire loaf and the joint of beef on the table but his head still throbbed. A grateful Olyvar and Lucas ate as well, and Robb hacked off a large hunk of meat to throw to Grey Wind. Lady Stark thanked Talisa profusely. The four guards stayed inside the tent, vigilant with swords in their hands.

Two men and a very tall woman in armor approached, carrying their helmets and with swords strapped to their sides. Ser Emmon Cuy wore yellow plate with sunflowers, Brienne of Tarth wore cobalt blue dented steel, and the man in the lead wore red plate with runes.

"Lord Stark, I beg an audience." Ser Robar Royce said. He was a serious man, tall and comely in a rough hewn way. "We wish to thank you for your words."

Robb waved them off, as he munched on a skewer of boar, fire peppers and peppers. "It is nothing. Any one with sense would do the same."

"Common sense is not that common, at least not among the Reach. We three would swear loyalty to you. Even if King Renly wakes, we cannot serve under Ser Loras. He has proven unworthy to be a Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." Robar said.

That was an understatement but Robb was happy to welcome such formidable warriors. He did not know much of Ser Emmon, but Red Robar was the second son of Yohn Royce, a Valeman his Lord Father had known and respected. Brienne was a bit odd and awkward, but standing well over six feet tall, she was a good fighter as was Ser Robar. Still, Robb was surprised the Rainbow Guard would abandon their king so quickly. "Why Ser, do you think Renly will not recover?" Robb asked curiously.

* * *

Before they could answer, Ser Garlan had returned to his own tent. "Lord Stark, my family would speak to you." Robb stood up, buckled his dagger and sword, and followed, with the others behind him. They walked to a neighboring pavilion, all gold and green and festooned with roses.

Except for Willas, the entire Tyrell family was present and as always, well dressed and surrounded by the trappings of wealth and power. The Lord of Highgarden sat on a splendid ebony chair in the middle of the room but the clear locus of power was a round table with fine quills and many pieces of parchment. Olenna sat there with Margaery and a dignified silver haired woman. Judging from her age, she was likely to be Margaery's mother, Alerie Hightower.

"Loras has something to say." Olenna said, prodding her errant grandchild.

The Commander of the Rainbow Guard bowed stiffly. "Lord Stark, I was in the wrong. I beg forgiveness for my actions."

Robb pointed to Ser Robar, Ser Emmon and Brienne. "Ser, you owe them an apology, not me." Loras's eyes turned stormy but it was hard to tell whether that was anger or shame.

"Now that is over, shall we eat? You must be hungry." Mace said jovially.

"We have more important things than food now." Olenna snapped at her fat son.

"My Lord, Ser Garlan's men have already brought me bread and meat." Robb answered.

"Lord Tyrell, we thank you for your hospitality." Lady Catelyn said, cheering a crestfallen Mace.

"Oh, for goodness sake. We have no time to beat about. Lord Stark, we need your advice on how to best face Stannis." Olenna said.

"But Tarly leads your men. And you have Lord Rowan and Fossoway as well." Robb said.

"Lord Tarly refuses to move until the King awakens. He says that we have pledged our swords, and only King Renly can give orders to the combined forces." Olenna said.

"When he awakens…. How long have I been asleep?" Robb asked.

"Lord Stark, you have been unconscious for seven nights." Lady Talisa said to a shocked Robb.

"SEVEN NIGHTS…." That was why his Lady Mother had been overwhelmed at his sight, and his mouth so dry and belly so empty. His legs nearly buckled again as his mind grasped the ramifications. "But.…. Have you sent a letter to my men?" Robb asked.

"We wanted to, My Lord. We asked many times but the Tyrells would not allow us any ravens." Patrek Mallister said.

"You can hardly blame us. We did not know what had happened, and we did not want to spread mistruth or panic." Olenna said tartly.

"Seven nights… Where is Renly? Have your Lords seen him?" Robb said. He realized the answer to his own question. "You have hidden Renly away. That is why Tarly does nothing, and why Florent is considering defecting to Stannis."

"Those dreadful Florents are always scheming." the Queen of Thorns sniffed.

"His grace is still in his tent, getting the best care possible. Several maesters are attending to him." Margaery said.

Robb raised his eyebrows and looked to Talisa. "His grace is in bad shape, worse than you were. Even giving water to drink has been a struggle." the healer admitted.

"He is not dead. He will wake up. He must!" Loras was distraught. His sister calmly put a hand on her brother's arm for comfort.

"And he may, Ser. The maesters have not given up hope. Maester Lomys is one of the best healers I have seen but even Archmaester Ebrose do not know how to heal magical injury. But if King Renly does waken, his mind may be clouded and his body weak." Talisa said.

"Seven nights. That means it has been over ten days, almost eleven, since the raven came about the Golden Tooth." Robb said.

The Tyrells exchanged careful and uncertain looks. The Queen of Thorn remained impassive but Lady Alerie and her daughter gave a small shudder while Loras and his fat father frowned. Even the friendly Ser Garlan had turned grim. The Tyrell guards placed hands on their weapons, as if preparing for an attack.

"Word has come to us about the Golden Tooth from many ravens." Margaery began.

"Lord Stark, we do not know what to believe but the camps are abuzz with wild stories." Ser Patrek glared with disapproval at the Tyrells. "And no doubt, complete lies."

Lady Catelyn looked like she wanted to burst with indignation but she kept silent.

"Enough hints. What has happened? What news is there of the Northmen and the Rivermen? What of my brother, Jon?" Robb said.

"The tales of the Tooth have been disturbing. Do you know what they call Jon Snow?" Lady Olenna said. "They say he is the Bloody Wolf of the North. That he used sorcery to destroy the Lannister men at Oxcross and treachery to capture the Tooth. He hurled men to their deaths from the castle walls, cut the hands off a young Marbrand boy, starved ladies with infant children, and butchered men who surrendered."

"Jon is no warlock, and he is not cruel. If I captured the Tooth, they would spread lies about me as well." Robb said.

"I would not be so sure that these are lies. We have heard it from many different men. And something strange has happened in the Westerlands." Olenna said.

"The messengers say that the Westerlords have abandoned House Lannister. Ashemark, Silver Hill, Hornvale, Sarsfield, Riverspring, Deep Den have gone silent. Your brother has forced those lords to back down." Garlan said.

"But how?" Robb said.

"They say the bastard promises to kill every child and prisoner at the Tooth." Catelyn said bitterly.

"They say he threatened to return the squires back in three pieces, one for each Stark the Iron Throne once held, or send their heads and hands back to their families. Others claim he will starve the prisoners to death if besieged and feed their bodies to his wolf. That is why the Westerlords have submitted to the Bloody Wolf." Garlan said.

Rob rolled his eyes. "If they died from hunger, Ghost will not eat skin and bones. I must go North to Riverrun."

"Of course, Lord Stark. You must punish this Jon Snow for his crimes." Mace said.

"Punish? My brother won a battle and subdued the Westermen. It has been eleven days since he took the Tooth. Tywin Lannister will be forced to leave Harrenhal and give us battle. I must return before the fighting begins." Robb said.

"So that was your plan? To lure the Old Lion back West?" Ser Garlan asked with admiration.

Robb nodded. "Yes, attacking Harrenhal would be foolish. My brother went west to force the hand of House Lannister. Lord Tywin is too proud to allow his lands to be threatened. I am only surprised by how quickly it has happened."

"Surely you do not agree with his actions. To starve and kill prisoners." Catelyn said.

"This is war, Mother. The Lannisters began this. They can reap the fruits of their harvest. But something must be done about Jon." Robb pointed to the stack of parchment. "Lady Olenna, may I take some."

The Queen of Thorns arched her eyebrows. "Of course, Lord Stark."

Robb took the quill and paper. "If you might observe, Ser Garlan, Ser Patrek, and Ser Lucas. I, Robb of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, decree that my brother, Jon Snow, to be my Heir until I have a child of my own blood. If I should be slain, or injured, then Jon Snow has command of the Armies of the North and the Rivermen pledged to me."

"Robb, you cannot do this. You will disinherit your trueborn brothers and sisters and create another Blackfyre Rebellion. I cannot let you do this." Catelyn cried.

"I do not need your consent. I am Lord of House Stark. Sansa must be disinherited. If she has a Lannister child, Lord Tywin would use that to claim Winterfell. I could have died from the shadow assassin. And if I died, who would lead the Northmen?" Robb said.

"What about Arya or Bran? They should be your heirs, not a bastard." Catelyn said.

"Bran is crippled. He can not lead men in war. And no one has seen Arya since Father died. She is likely dead. As for bastard… look at the Baratheons. Stannis and Renly would kill each other with armies and foul magic. Trueborns are not better than bastards." Robb said bluntly.

"How much do you trust this Snow? After these stories of savagery and cruelty at the Golden Tooth?" Olenna asked.

"He should never have been a Snow. Jon is a dire wolf, as much a Stark as my ancestors. We share my father's blood. And he will bring Fire And Sword to House Lannister. My lords, fix your seals to the decree. Jon Snow is my heir."

"Lord Robb, what will you do now?" Margaery asked.

"Ride North. My brother and I have a war to fight." Robb said.

**Author's Notes**

This is a homage to the cheese scene in the show. In the books, I imagine Lady Olenna could merely glare and the cheese would arrive._ "Dinner without cheese is like a beautiful woman with only one eye."_ This is a quote from the famous French gastronome, Brillat-Savarin. I have never read his work **The Physiology of Taste** but it is supposed to be a classic among foodies.

The fork is actually a recent innovation which only came to Western Europe a few hundred years ago. Before the fork, people would just use a dagger to cut meat and a spoon. While it may seem strange, lavish banquets would impress the people. In a time of peace, the Tyrell strategy of image management may well have made Renly appear more kingly. Unfortunately, the Game of Thrones is not a time of peace.

Jon is like Ghost - a dire wolf and yet apart from the pack. George RR Martin said something very similar in a 2003 interview. Robb has no inkling why Jon can never be only a Stark.

"That is a hard strong keep and it commands the hill road." These are Perwyn Frey's words as overheard by Catelyn Starks in a Clash of Kings. I gave them to Garlan Tyrell instead.

The royal wheelhouse is ridiculous and a good example of how GRRM is not good at math. Imagine forty horses pulling in one direction. How long would it take to stop? It is like the Wall which is 700 feet high, and wildlings shooting arrows at the top! And they are climbing 700 feet while being fired on by the Night's Watch?

An army of sheep led by a stag is better than an army of stags led by a sheep. This is a riff off the quote by Alexander the Great "I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion."

I believe strongly that Jon would avenge Robb and vice versa. In the books, there are scenes about You are the Night's Watch - you can't interfere with political struggles. GRRM writes that so Jon can act all conflicted and make the whole "his Watch is ended" scene. I can buy that Jon won't help his brother get the throne - what I don't buy is that if your relatives get slaughtered, you don't want revenge. Imagine if Robb was alive and King in the North, and gets news that Jon gets murdered by his men. Does Robb sit and say I can't interfere? I think he marches up there, and hangs everyone involved. I understand the logistics were hard and they wanted to write in Arya and riff on the Rat Cook but Jon should have avenged Robb.

Renly's speech with the peach is omitted from the TV show and that is a real shame. It is one of GRRM's best subplots. Renly is greedy but I think he does want his brother to smell the roses - to enjoy life. Stannis reacts like Renly is humiliating him. I feel like the TV show makes Renly a Tyrell stooge, but he is much better developed in the book. His abilities to build alliances and political skill are valuable in peace. He is charismatic, likeable, and acts like a king. That means a lot when kings need a mantle of authority. He is just a casualty of this Azor Ahai saves the world meme, which is nonsensical by Season 8. In Book Five, the story of Azor Ahai and Lightbringer is going strong.

The book version and the TV version of the death are a bit different. In the book version, Renly's throat is chopped off by the shadow and then it disappears. BUT, in the books, Brienne only claims later in King's Landing that it had the face of Stannis. Catelyn tells Ser Robar that it was Stannis. But she actually never SEES anything. She just knows it is true. I found that very odd. How does she know? It is dark and it happens quickly. The TV show had a shadow with features. It is taller than Renly, but I still don't know how you identify Stannis. Of course in this story the fight is much longer, so they can see face.

I find the reaction of Loras after Renly's death appalling. He kills three of Renly's guards, two of whom are on the Rainbow guard. And nobody says anything. There are no repercussions and in the book, they just say Loras went mad with grief like those stories of Sir Lancelot. These aren't no name wildlings. This is the second son of Yohn Royce and another noble knight. I suppose they might have blamed Brienne but the casual dismissal of these lives as irrelevant seems wrong. In my story, I imagine they need at least a trial of some sort. Of course, they try to beat out a confession.

There is a passage where Lancel claims to Sansa that Robb attacked with an army of wargs. And of course, all of this becomes garbled as the story is retold. As for return the squires in three pieces, that is the same threat Tywin made against Lord Tarbeck.

Finally, the chapter ends with Robb declaring Jon his heir. In the books, this happens after Theon attacks the North, and right before the Red Wedding. Here, his near death with the shadow makes Robb realize his mortality. Is it unfair to displace Bran? Well, Robb knows Bran can't fight a war. This is the major problem with the TV ending. In Westeros, military leadership is important as the threat of war is constant. Think Robert Baratheon, Aegon the Conqueror, the Young Wolf, even Tywin. These are all generals. How can a cripple hold together the Throne? Lords do not listen to people they don't respect or fear. With Bran on the throne, the Seven Kingdoms splinter, and more wars would follow.


	20. Bets and Debts

**Bets and Debts**

The skinny little girl with brown hair, gray eyes and a long face sat at the bottom of the stairwell to the ruined tower. All five towers were immense, taller than the highest buildings at Winterfell. Everything at Harrenhal had decayed, after Aegon the Conqueror extinguished House Hoare with dragonfire. The stone had melted and cracked, and the men had been burnt alive. When the wind blew from the North, the castle would wail, either cries from the dead Harren the Black, or gusts passing through the fissures of the lumpy, misshapen towers.

Old Nan had told the Stark children stories about Harrenhal, the thousands of slaves who died building the monstrous stronghold, the human blood mixed into the mortar, and the many horrors that haunted the castle's past. What were stories though to the present? Arya had seen terrible things - the Tickler practicing his trade, women raped half a dozen times in a single night, and bodies sliced in half by the Mountain's sword. Some of those bodies were the children of the raped women. Old Nan had scared them with stories but Arya now knew true fear - to be so numb that your spirit died and you hoped only to survive until nightfall. She was a lamb now, among a herd of sheep to be plucked, shorn and slaughtered.

Arya hated how she felt : afraid, helpless, and meek. The smallfolk cringed and cowered, their lives at the mercy of the Mountain, the Bloody Mummers, and the Lannister army. But things had changed the last few days. Fear had spread through the castle. It had passed through the massive gatehouse, into the kitchens and the bathhouse, through the barracks and the Hall of Hundred Hearths, and steadily up the towers. At the war councils, she could see and hear flickers of doubt among the commanders. On the battlements, in the courtyards, and the stables, the knights and men-at-arms were nervous and wary. And everyone at Harrenhal - the prisoners, servants, soldiers, and lords - could sense the battle looming on the horizon.

"Arry!" The plump boy with straw colored hair and big slow eyes scampered into the room. He was followed by an older lad, on the verge of manhood, whose thick knotted muscles showed through the leather apron.

"Don't call me that. My name here is Nan." Arya hissed.

Hot Pie stopped, and smiled sheepishly "Ok, Arry." He handed her a tart, stuffed with chopped nuts, fruit and cheese. Arya wolfed it down, as Gendry looked around, hands on his hammer.

Arya slept in a bed of straw hidden in an alcove beneath the Wailing Tower. It was far from the Kingspyre Tower and her duties as Tywin Lannister's cupbearer but the constant shriek of the wind drove others away. The smithy and the kitchen were close, so after dinner, there were a few moments left to speak to friends and share news. They met near an abandoned granary, with the maze of tunnels offering crannies and crevices to hide. Arya had lost Needle, so she relied on the shadows to save her from beatings and worse.

"The Mountain left this evening. He went North with two hundred men." Gendry said. The servants whispered a great deal about the Old Lion's plans. Some said he would go south to Highgarden, others that the Lannisters would march West again to ravage Pinkmaiden and Acorn Hall, and still others believed Lord Tywin would repair Harrenhal to form a new seat for House Lannister to rule the riverlands. Arya doubted the last very much. The Whents had only used the lower thirds of two of the five towers, and the rest had fallen into complete decay.

"I heard that the Bloody Wolf cut out Stafford Lannister's heart, roasted it in a fire, and fed it to his dire wolf." Hot Pie squeaked.

"That's stupid. Wolves eat meat raw. Why would the heart be roasted?" Arya glared.

"They say that Jon Snow starved the women and children at the Golden Tooth until the Westerlords surrendered. That he threatened to return prisoners in pieces, hands and feet first, and swore to kill everyone if the castle was besieged." Gendry said.

Arya shrugged. "Good. I hope they all die."

Gendry looked at her carefully. "What do you think the Northmen will do, if they capture the castle?" Harrenhal, with thick and sheer curtain walls and mighty gatehouse and battlements, seemed invulnerable. However, the castle had surrendered many times, although Arya vaguely remembered from lessons that dragons were often the cause.

"Will they eat us or feed us to the wolves?" Hot Pie asked. "Goodwife Harra says Northerners are all wargs who eat human flesh after battle. She says the Bloody Wolf is the worst of all and that he feeds weirwood trees with the blood of children. I don't want to be eaten."

Unlike her, Hot Pie still had a lot of flesh to eat. "That's ridiculous." She snorted.

"Arry, at the holdfast, you yelled Winterfell, when we were fighting on the wall." Hot Pie said.

"I never did." Arya yelled. "That's a lie." The plump boy quivered, as if he thought Arya would turn into a wolf and eat him. Gendry took him by the arm to stop his shaking.

"Hot Pie is just scared. He is worried that the Northern army will attack when the Lannisters leave." Gendry said.

"How can anyone be worse than the Lannisters?" Arya snapped.

"If they think we betrayed the Riverlands by serving the Lannisters, they could be. They could chop our heads off and mount them on spikes as a warning to traitors." Gendry said.

"We were forced to serve the Lannisters." Arya said.

"They won't know that. If the fighting is hard and bloody, the Northmen could put the entire castle to the sword." Gendry said.

That's not true, Arya thought. Jon and Robb would never do that, but knights protected the innocent only in Sansa's stories. Ser Gregor Clegane proved that was a lie. She bit her lip. Would anyone believe a serving girl claiming to be Arya Stark? She did not know many Stark bannermen, and even less the Houses pledged to the Tullys. If she could get a message to her brothers… but how could she? There were three maesters at Harrenhal, but Lord Tywin watched their ravens with great care, especially since the Tooth.

"I don't want to leave Harrenhal. There's hot bread here, and oatcakes and I can steal a bite of the honeyed rabbits off the spit. I don't want to eat worms in the forest." Hot Pie blubbered.

"If we get caught in a siege, there will be nothing to eat. The Lannisters are getting ready to ride. Today, they brought a hundred horses for us to shoe. I saw squires polishing saddles and Tufflebury ordering servants to load casks and barrels of drink and food onto wagons. It won't be long before the army departs." Gendry said.

"They will leave men to guard the castle though." Hot Pie said.

"Not many. The Northmen sacked the Golden Tooth even with a full garrison. Harrenhal is two hundred miles from Riverrun. We don't want to be in the castle if it is attacked." Gendry said.

"Where would we go? We ran around like fools and got captured by the Mountain's Men. They will kill us if that happens again." Arya said.

Gendry had a stubborn look on his face. He looks more like a mule than a bull, Arya thought. "We are forty miles from Harroway. When the Lannisters march, the roads will be full of people. We can pretend to be part of the army or smallfolk running from any battle. There is an inn at the crossroads. Inns have kitchens and forges for horseshoes. We could all work there - and there would be food and a place to sleep." He said.

"Alright, but how do we get out? There are two Gates - West and East, and guards watching a dozen murder holes on each side." Arya said.

"There is a postern gate near the Tower of Ghosts, and only a few men there. If we could sneak out at night, or create a distraction." Gendry said.

Arya chewed her lip. Jaqen H'ghar promised three lives for the three deaths stolen from the Red God. He was a Lannister soldier now and could escort them through the gate, or kill the guards. My brothers are more wolf than man, and so am I. I have the wolf blood, just like the Young Wolf or the White Wolf. "I know a way." She was done with being afraid.

* * *

Jon relaxed as the red sandstone walls of Riverrun appeared in the distance. The five days ride back had been uneventful, but he would not rest until the food and supplies were held securely at the Tully castle. Hundreds of wagons made the trek from the Golden Tooth to Riverrun, laden with grain, nuts, dried meat, fish, and ale. Karstark and Umber men drove thousands of cattle back, and the cows had eaten bare the grass next to the River Road.

In four years at the Citadel, Jon read all the scrolls he could find on war in Westeros : Aegon's Conquest, the Dornish Wars, the rebellion of the Faith Militant, the Dance of the Dragons, and Robert's Rebellion. The maesters paid great attention to plots, schemes and treachery. There were tales of brave knights, good queens, wise kings, and vile villains. Jon thought those writings, so clearly biased to the winners, neglected the importance of food and supplies. Battles, campaigns and even wars turned on very small things, and the care and feeding of soldiers mattered. An army marched on its stomach.

To ensure those supplies, Jon had to give up the Mormonts. A thousand soldiers from Bear Island held the Golden Tooth under the She Bear. Lady Maege was ferocious but honest, and Jon had made a vow on the honor of House Stark. He trusted her to keep the pledge. But a thousand men, well armored and intensely loyal, were a high price to pay, and only one of Maege's daughters would return to Riverrun.

Jon surveyed the remaining troops. The Manderly brothers took charge of the supplies, their men guarding the many wagons. Eddard Karstark served as captain of the outriders, fanning forward and doubling back to make certain there were no surprise attacks. Smalljon Umber had fallen near the rear, as the cattle took their sweet time on the road. Dacey rode by his side, as Lyra and Jory stayed with their lady mother. The Mormont heir watched over the prisoners with the help of Chett, Gerion, and the Wintertown boys. They had only taken four dozen captives from the Tooth. Besides Ser Stafford and his three captains, the others were all sons of the leading houses of the Westerlands. The only exceptions were Lady Dorna and her daughter, Janei. The lady prayed seven times a day, and kept both her children close.

He rubbed Ghost's head, the shaggy pale fur a source of comfort and warmth. Ghost did not like the Freys. He tolerated Ser Stevron but growled at Black Walder. The irascible younger Frey was squabbling with his uncles, and demanding that they provide men to transport the canopy bed back to the Twins. Jon had not realized this but there were several houses sworn to the Freys - Charlton, Erenford and Haigh. The men of those houses seemed split between Ser Stevron and his grandson, and that did not bode well. The Freys and their sworn men were nearly half of the Rivermen that followed Robb in battle.

The guards on the walls hailed them with a salute as the Western bridge opened. As Jon dismounted, Edmure Tully and Jason Mallister walked out to greet him with worried faces. Jon gave orders to escort the prisoners to the Maidenvault and walked into Riverrun.

The brown haired man looked down at the table, his eyes not meeting his uncle's glare. His pose made Denys Mallister, Lord Jason's nephew, look even more guilty.

"Tell him, Ser, what happened." Edmure Tully said.

"We were drinking apple wine, and paid a visit to the miller's daughter. Her father came home and chased us away from his house. We had finished our skins of wine, and hadn't managed to satisfy ourselves, so we went to the brothel in the village. And there." Denys said.

"Lord Snow does not need to know the details of your debauchery." Jason said in an icy tone.

"I think Greyjoy put something in my drink. When I woke, my head was throbbing. He disappeared and took the scroll from my saddlebags." Denys hung his head in shame.

"Why would he drug you, Ser? And what is this scroll?" Jon said.

Lord Mallister answered the question. "Seagard was built to protect from Ironborn attacks but we are also sailors. When he becomes a man grown, a Mallister takes passage to explore other ports - Lannisport, Oldtown, King's Landing, Gulltown. My grandfather, Jarek Mallister, sailed as far as Volantis. My Lady wife gave Denys a name day gift of a scroll with passage on the _Myraham_, a cog out of Oldtown."

"So you told Theon Greyjoy about this scroll. And he stole it while you were drunk?" Denys nodded to Jon's question. "But why have you not send a raven to Seagard?" Jon asked.

"We have. The _Myraham_ left port two days ago." Edmure said.

"My nephew only told me three days after. It took him two days to recover from his stupor, and another to realize that Greyjoy was a thief." the elder Mallister said.

"Who else knows?" Jon asked.

"We have not told anyone, Snow. But Greyjoy has been gone for a week." Edmure said.

Jon clasped his hands together in thought. It was a three day ride to Seagard, and four hundred miles from there to Pyke. Theon would go there to see his Lord father. A cog was slow, and might take over a week to traverse such a distance but the longships of the Iron Fleet were sleek and fast. What would Balon Greyjoy do? Would he accede to Theon's request, and attack Lannisport? The Lord Reaper watched his two eldest die fighting the North and the Rivermen. Jon doubted that such a man would ever forgive those losses. "I will call a conference for the Northern Lords. Lord Jason, I would strengthen the defenses at Seagard."

* * *

The map of the North was spread out on the table of the solar when they assembled in the afternoon. Many lords were absent from the castle. Roose Bolton and Rickard Karstark were further east on the Riverroad. The Greatjon had lent his efforts and men to clearing the southern castles of Atranta and Wayfarer's Rest. Lord Hornwood had gone South but left his heir at Riverrun. And crannogmen were busy scouting the meandering twists and turns of the Trident. There was no time to mince words or answer curious questions about the cracking of the Tooth. "Theon Greyjoy has left Riverrun. He is likely sailing to his Lord father in Pyke to ask for longships." Jon announced.

"Will the squids attack Casterly Rock?" Dacey Mormont asked.

"It could be that Balon Greyjoy allies with us. But it is also possible that he attacks the North." Jon pointed to the western shores of the North. "I doubt they go as far as Bear Island but the IronBorn could land ships on Sea Dragon Point, or Blazewater Bay."

Galbart Glover blanched and Gawen Flint's face reddened. "Why would Theon turn traitor?" Eddard Karstark asked.

"If it were only Theon, I would be less concerned. But it is his Lord Father who controls the fleet. Balon Greyjoy saw his castle taken by Northern swords. And pirates prey on the weak. The fighting strength of the North is in the Riverlands. Without a hostage, Balon may attack."

"Why would anyone want Sea Dragon Point? It is just home to otters, seals, and clams." Smalljon Umber said, conveniently forgetting the Glovers and Deepwood Motte.

Before Lord Glover could voice his outrage, Jon spoke. "The IronBorn have held Sea Dragon Point before. They could raid the Stony Shore, or sail the Saltspear and the Blazeburn inland and threaten more settlements. They could reach Torrhen's Square."

"Torrhen's Square is a strong keep with thirty feet high walls. The Ironborn know nothing of siegecraft." Daryn Hornwood said.

"The Tallharts could shelter in their castle but then the Greyjoys could raid other areas. Castle Cerwyn, Barrowton, and Winterfell are close enough." Jon said.

"But Winterfell is two hundreds miles away from Torrhen's Square." Dacey said.

"The Golden Tooth is two hundred miles away from Riverrun." Jon said. The Northmen went silent when they realized the import of those words.

"Lord Snow, my father will be pleased to send men to Winterfell. He can send a dozen barges, packed with knights, warhorses, and siege machines." Wylis Manderly said.

"I thank you, Ser. But we will need more men to defend the West. Any attacks must be stopped before the Ironborn capture Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, or Flint's Finger. I will send a thousand men to reinforce those areas. Men can march to Seagard and take ships North. I will send more archers and spearmen to Moat Cailin as well."

Galbart Glover and the Flints were heartened, but the Karstarks and Smalljon Umber were not. "Lord Snow… the Lannisters." Torrhen said.

"Aye, we must face the Lannisters. And there is some chance that Theon convinces the Iron Fleet to look South. But I do not wish to depend on the mercy of Balon Greyjoy. Ned Stark would not allow the North to be ravaged, and my brother Robb would not want the lands of his bannermen in danger." Jon said forcefully.

The Northern commanders departed, leaving him alone with Ghost and his thoughts. Robb had sixteen thousand men when they crossed the Neck. Four hundred had been left to garrison the Twins. Another hundred were at Moat Cailin. A thousand Mormonts held the Golden Tooth, and a thousand Glovers, Flints and Cerwyns were headed North. Even without losing battles, the fighting strength of the North had declined. And the Lannister army loomed.

* * *

Robb Stark dismounted his horse, favoring his right side. His squire, Olyvar, rushed anxiously over, but he preferred to limp than accept help. They had ridden hard the last two days and arrived at Grassy Vale on the border shared by the Reach and the Stormlands. Grassfield Keep was called a castle by courtesy but it was really a fortified watchtower, built of stone, with turrets and arrow slits for defense. Most importantly, there was a maester there, and Robb dispatched a raven to Riverrun for Jon's eyes.

Robb was exhausted, and his legs ached and right shoulder throbbed. When he emerged from the castle, the guards had already watered the horses. "There are two hours more of light. If we ride now and all day tomorrow, we may be able to …..." Robb said.

Talisa stomped over, hands on her hips. "Don't be an idiot. You are pushing yourself too hard."

"My lady, you cannot speak to the Lord of Winterfell like that." Olyvar said, scandalized.

"Fine. Don't be an idiot, Lord Robb." Talisa said. "You were unconscious for seven days. If you get hurt again, you may not be able to ride at all."

"My lord, there is an inn close, the Rose and Crown. We could get a hot meal, and the horses could rest in a stable. Bitterbridge is still two hundred miles away, and Riverrun even further from Bitterbridge. A few hours will not be of any import." Ser Robar said.

"I agree, Robb. Better to rest, and keep the horses fresh." Catelyn Stark said.

"Lord Robb, I could apply a poultice to your shoulder at the Rose and Crown. Don't you need to use your sword arm if you face the Lannisters?" Talisa asked.

Robb sighed. He had lost this battle. 'Very well. Let us go to the inn."

The inn was a tall timbered building, with the bottom story made of gray stone and the top whitewashed wood. The stables were clean and it rested near a copse of peach and plum trees near the Blueburn River. Above the plain door was a painted sign of a crown with roses on top. Robb wondered if some distant Tyrell cousin had founded the inn. Only Highgarden would put the rose above the throne.

A short stout woman emerged from the kitchens to ask their business. Robb handed her a fistful of silver stags and the astonished innkeeper called for the stable boy and serving maid. The drafty common room was quiet as they demolished bowls of venison stew with carrots, peas and onions and roast duck served on brown oat bread drenched with drippings and scraps of cheese. He finished a cold sweet plum before turning his attention to the new recruits. "You three were pledged to King Renly. Why change your cloak?" Robb asked.

"Lord Stark, I would have given my life for King Renly, and died happy." Brienne said.

"It was Ser Loras, our commander. He went mad. He tried to kill all of us, swearing that we must have helped the murderer. We were too shocked to fight back." Robar said.

"Aye, Ser Loras thought that both you and Renly were dead. But that great wolf of yours growled, and Queen Margaery calmed him down." Emmon said.

"Even so, Loras still thought that we had conspired against the king. He wanted to hang all of us that night, but your lady mother spoke for us." Robar said.

"We were fortunate that Lady Olenna was there. She told Loras that a trial was needed. They waited until Lord Mace arrived. Else Lucas and Olyvar would have hung." Catelyn said.

Robb shook his head. Somehow he doubted the wisdom of Mace Tyrell. Had the Tyrells killed his squire and Ser Lucas, any hope of an alliance would be gone. War, and the fates of tens of thousands, could turn on very little. He grimaced when the hot poultice touched his right arm.

"Lord Stark, was the ghost truly Stannis?" Brienne asked.

"I saw his features in the shadow - the eyes, the brow and the chin, but as to how such vile magic was performed - I do not know. But I would swear it was his face." Robb said.

"Then I vow to avenge King Renly. One day, I will meet Stannis in battle." Brienne swore.

"Renly is not dead. He may still recover. But we are going North to fight the Lannisters. I do not know if we will face Stannis in battle." Robb cautioned.

"Lord Stark, we would pledge our swords. Without your words, we may have lost our lives." Robar said. Ser Emmon Cuy also nodded, and the two drew their swords out.

Brienne of Tarth hesitated. "My Lord, I am not certain that I can. If you should fall in battle, I would need to serve Jon Snow in battle."

"And why would that be a problem?" Robb asked.

"Lord Stark, they say that your brother fell upon Ser Stafford Lannister and butchered thousands of men when they slept." Brienne said.

"And why would that be a problem?" Robb repeated.

"But, such action is not fitting of a knight. It is not noble or just." Brienne said.

"This is war, not a song of gallant knights and fair maidens. I did the same at Riverrun. After capturing the Kingslayer, I rode hard for Riverrun in the hour of the wolf. There are thousands of Lannister men north of the Tumblestone. Most were asleep in their tents when we attacked. Better that my enemies die butchered in their sleep than my men die fighting." Robb said.

"Lord Stark, I do not know if I can follow such an order. I wish to be a true knight, and protect the weak, and fight for justice." Brienne said with an innocence that Robb's men did not share.

"My lady, war is not a tourney, or a game. You may think my brother seems hard and cruel, but his actions are the North and to gain justice for my Lord Father. You must follow orders in war, because discipline is the soul of the army." Robb said those words kindly, but Brienne looked uncertain.

"Perhaps, the Brienne could pledge her sword to me. Stannis has a great army around him and many guards." Lady Catelyn said. "Do not throw your life away."

Brienne brightened. "If that would be acceptable to Lord Stark…."

"Very well." Robb nodded. He accepted Robar and Emmon into his service and promised them a place at his home and at his table. Lady Catelyn extended the same vow to Brienne of Tarth. She was a skilled warrior, and his mother would need a guard at Riverrun and during battles. Perhaps Robb should have insisted that the oath of fealty be given to House Stark. Still, what trouble could Brienne make, if she pledged her sword to his lady mother?

* * *

Tyrion hurried forward when he heard the sounds of laughter ahead. He passed a dying calico cat, bleeding profusely from a crossbow bolt, and swept into the lower bailey, with Bronn and a dozen mountain clansmen trailing. The crowd of sycophants parted before the heavily armed guard. A portly knight was sprawled on the ground carrying a melon on a stick. Tyrion arrived to see a fat ugly bald man in white armor hitting Sansa Stark with the flat of his blade. The girl, her dress torn down to the waist, cried in pain and the crowd sniggered at the sight.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tyrion yelled. At the center of the great room, Joffrey stood, flanked by Lancel Lannister and the odious Meryn Trant. A crossbow hung on Joffrey's belt. Ser Meryn and Ser Boros Blount, Sansa's tormentor, sneered at Tyrion. "What sort of knight beats helpless maids?"

"A knight who follows the orders of his king." Meryn retorted.

"I am punishing her for the crimes of the Starks." Joffrey announced. "She has nothing to do with the battles. The Young Wolf captured Ser Jaime. And the White Wolf took the Golden Tooth. If they were here, you would not be punishing anyone." Tyrion said. Bronn and the guards fanned out, hands on their weapons as they stared down Joffrey's guards. Two huge mountain clansmen stepped forward and Sandor Clegane took advantage of the confusion to offer Sansa a dark cloak.

"Imp, the king gave orders to punish the girl. And you cannot threaten the king." Meryn said, stepping forward to grab Sansa. Ser Boros lifted his sword to strike Sansa's thighs.

Tyrion smiled. "I cannot hurt the king. His men, however, have no such protection." Shagga, a massive hairy clansman with an overpowering stench, slammed the back of a handaxe into Ser Boros's rotund belly. Even protected by plate mail, the kingsguard keeled over in pain. Shagga then clubbed the head with a dirty left fist, and Boros fell splat on the ground, his armor clanging loudly. Bronn had already placed the tip of a longsword at Ser Meryn's neck. "Kings cannot be beaten. But whipping boys can be. Gaemon Palehair was punished for Aegon the Unhappy's sins before he died from poison as his food tester. Are there any volunteers to be his grace's whipping boy? Care to fill that role, Ser Meryn?" Tyrion asked.

"Sansa is mine, and I can torment her how I like." Joffrey sulked.

"Sansa is your betrothed. And if you care nothing about that, she is our only hostage. Since you killed the most valuable one. If you hadn't chopped off Ned Stark's head, this war would have ended with a negotiation. Your uncle, Ser Jaime, and Lancel's father, Ser Kevan, would be free. As Hand of the King, I am taking charge of Lady Sansa." Tyrion said. A short hideous woman darted out and took Sansa's hand. Even without her scarred bony face and the double necklace of human ears, Chella of the Black Ears would have been ugly. The clansmen were too savage to have any fear of Ser Meryn or Joffrey. Tyrion turned to leave.

"I am the King. The king can do as he likes. I can punish anyone I wish in the Seven Kingdoms." Joffrey yelled.

Tyrion could not hold his tongue at his nephew's petulance. "Tell that to my Lord father. Or Robb Stark or Jon Snow. I doubt that any of the three will tremble at your words."

* * *

Tyrion and his entourage escorted the dazed Sansa back to the Tower of the Hand. The battlements, halls and doors of the tower bristled with hundreds of sellswords and even more Clansmen. The mercenaries followed Bronn while the mountain men looked to Shagga, Timett and Chella. Servant women and a ginger haired maester rushed to attend the girl's bruises and wounds. They took her away to the bedroom wing.

"Lady Sansa will stay here for her safety. She is not to leave the Tower for any reason." Tyrion said to the many sets of guards in the room.

Bronn nodded. "Good, we need her as a hostage if the Northmen attack King's Landing."

Tyrion scoffed. "The Northern army is five hundred miles away. And they have my father and the Lannister army to contend with."

"Didn't save the Tooth. That was two hundred miles away and well defended." Bronn said. The sellswords in the room nodded in agreement.

"Shagga, son of Dolf, does not fear this Jon Snow. Wolfman will face my axes." The giant hairy warrior kissed the crescent blades of the black steel battle axes. Tyrion doubted that was sanitary. Then again, Shagga's lips were also filthy.

"You can face him first. After he captures your men, he will chop off their hands, feet, ears and cocks. He might feed them to you and not the goats." Bronn japed.

"I don't have no cock." Chella crowed. Tyrion shuddered. He certainly didn't plan to investigate that statement.

"The Bloody Wolf will find something else to chop off." Bronn said to the suddenly thoughtful Mountain Men and woman.

Tyrion shook his head. He had no time for this. He had a meeting of the Small Council soon.

* * *

The afternoon light passed through the three large arched windows of the private audience chamber. The solar was not as large as the royal chamber but well furnished with wall hangings, wax candles, and Myrish rugs. An Essosi water clock, with water dripping down a shallow metal cylinder, measured the time, and a golden stag and lion would emerge on each hour.

Tyrion stopped writing the letter to Doran Martell, the Prince of Dorne. One of the three seated at the long cherry table was likely a spy for his sister Cersei. The Small Council was down to three members besides the Hand. Jaime, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was imprisoned at Riverrun. Stannis and Renly, the Master of Ships and Laws respectively, had rebelled against the Iron Throne. Tyrion would have gladly filled those posts but Stannis had taken the royal navy and none of the other regions cared about the King's laws.

Tyrion waddled over to his seat to join Grandmaester Pycelle, Lord Varys and Lord Baelish. Bronn watched his back, and two dozen more guards stood near with weapons ready. The trays of grapes, pecans, cheese and crackers were untouched. Varys and Baelish drank mint tea while Pycelle had a cup of iced honey milk. Tyrion poured himself a large goblet of Dornish red and heard a loud commotion as a woman ordered his men to step aside. My sweet sister, he thought, and quaffed the wine.

"Where is that red haired tart? Joffrey says that you took her from Maegor's Holdfast." Cersei demanded. Four knights in gold plate armor entered the room with his sister.

"The Lady Sansa is here in the Tower of the Hand. Your son ordered his Kingsguard to beat her bloody in front of the entire court." Tyrion replied.

"Joffrey is only angry about Oxcross and the Tooth. He would not harm her too much. I told him that he should put a babe into her belly." Cersei said.

Tyrion almost spat out his wine. "Lady Sansa has not yet flowered. And they are betrothed, not married. What good would a bastard do for the Throne?" he said.

"Joffrey can legitimize a bastard. The throne can claim the North through the babe. If Father kills Robb Stark, then Sansa's child inherits Winterfell." Cersei said with a smile.

The plot was ambitious, rash, and likely to blow up badly. A Stark child with Joffrey as father had a very good claim to the Iron Throne. The North would never accept Joffrey's bastard as warden but they might push for that babe to become the King. But then again, his sister never thought of such things. "Lady Sansa is our only hostage. As Hand, I refuse to let her be harmed. We may need her for any negotiation with the North." Tyrion said.

"And what negotiation will that be? Will it occur before or after the Wolves clash with Lord Tywin's army in the Riverlands?" Petyr Baelish said with a mocking grin.

Varys giggled. "Men say that Jon Snow will not even need to attack the Lannisters. That he marches South to sack King's Landing, while Lord Tywin licks his wounds back West." Varys flapped his hands like the wings of a fat, bald and perfumed bird. "The puppeteers dub him the winged wolf. I had not known a man could be part wolf, part raven, and all sorcerer. They say he will bewitch the guards to open the gates, and bathe the city in blood."

"I want those puppet players' heads on spikes. And the audience to be blinded in one eye. How dare they spread these traitorous tales?" Cersei fumed.

"If you punish people for speaking and watching, these absurd stories will spread further. King's Landing has no army that can take the field. Father must deal with the Starks, not us. Lord Varys, do you have anything useful to tell us?" Tyrion said.

"A thousand pardons, Lord Hand. I thought you wished to know the chatter among the common folk in King's Landing." The eunuch did not look sorry at all, but turned more serious. "My little birds spread odd tales about the Reach and the Stormlands. The Baratheon brothers had a parley with the Young Wolf attending. Somehow, both Renly and Stannis injured each other, and Robb Stark returned north."

"Was the Stark boy involved in this altercation? Perhaps we can use this to drive a wedge between the North and the other Kingdoms." Baelish said.

"My birds say that Robb Stark was hurt but after a week, rose like a vengeful dire wolf. He accuses Stannis of attempted kin slaying, and claims that the red witch conjured a shadow with Stannis's face to kill his brother. They say that the young wolf saved Renly's life at great risk to his own. They call Robb Stark a hero in the South." Varys concluded.

He gritted his teeth at the terrible news. If the Wolves got the swords of the Reach or the Stormlands, they could trap Tywin in the Riverlands. The fall of King's Landing would be certain after the Lannister army was destroyed. "But what of the Baratheon brothers? Will they march for the capital? And which lords support them?" Tyrion said.

Varys tittered, the rolls of fat on his neck quivering. "That is very amusing. The Tyrell army is frozen because they must wait for their king to wake from his wounds. They cannot march and lose men by the day. Stannis is recovered but no one wants to serve a kinslayer and Renly was popular with the Stormlanders. Only few houses have gone over - Florent, Farring, Meadows and Horpe. Stannis may have a few thousand more men but due to Robb Stark's words, House Caron, Tarth, Lonmouth and Selmy have sworn not to serve a kingslayer." Varys said.

Tyrion released his breath, happy for the good news. Ten thousand men were insufficient to storm King's Landing. Between gold cloaks, guards, sellswords and clansmen, nearly six thousand soldiers defended the city walls. "Stannis does not have the men. But if Renly wakes, or allies with the North, we will be in dire straits." Tyrion poured a goblet of wine for Cersei.

"Renly shows no signs of waking. But that was two days ago at Bitterbridge. And I do not know if the Reach offered any swords to the Starks." Varys simpered.

"Lord Hand, perhaps I should go South as an envoy. I have done business with Tyrells before. I could go and sound them out. Renly may recant, and pledge his fealty to his royal nephew for his brother's head. And I am too unimportant to make a hostage." Baelish said.

Tyrion did not trust the unctuous Baelish. The Mockingbird was playing a deeper game, and many Lords underestimated the Master of Coin as an upjumped merchant. That said, the Throne needed any allies they could get. After all, he was offering Myrcella to buy off the Martells. Tyrion hid his face with the silver goblet. If Baelish was out of King's Landing, he could send Bronn and Podrick to inspect the brothels and uncover any secrets. Baelish's men would be easier to interrogate if their paymaster was three hundred miles away.

"Very well, Lord Baelish. The crown thanks you for your loyalty. If you convince the Tyrells to support King Joffrey, you will be handsomely rewarded." Everyone in the Small Council smiled, and pretended to be friends. They all had their secret plots, Tyrion thought. He hoped that none of them involved killing the Hand. He finished the wine and reached for another bottle of wine. The letter to Dorne could wait.

* * *

The Tyrells assembled at Bitterbridge, the mood somber. Tents, banners, wagons, and siege machines littered the Rose Road but this time, there were no jugglers, mummers or singers. Renly had been placed in the Lord Caswell's bedchamber, watched over by a team of Maesters. Willis and Garlan sat with Margaery as Lady Olenna eyed her son with annoyance. An elegant lady with long silver hair returned to the solar.

"Mother, have the Maesters seen any change?" Margaery asked.

Lady Alerie shook her head. "Archmaester Ebrose says he cannot detect any response. He doubts that King Renly will wake up soon. Loras is inconsolable."

The Tyrells absorbed the news with a collective groan. "I should have come to the parley. If I led King Renly's van, Stannis might have fled the field. And now, Randyll Tarly refuses to march." Mace complained.

"Lord Tarly has the right of it." Willas said. "Without Renly, Highgarden has no claim to the Iron Throne. And men will not wage war without a king who can grant titles and lands."

"What happens if Renly dies?" Garlan asked.

"Loras will be besides himself. Besides sleep, he has not left Renly's side for days." Alerie said.

"Mother, Garlan is asking for House Tyrell. We have declared against the Lannisters. What side will we take if my husband passes?" Margaery said, looking to Olenna.

The Queen of Thorns snorted. "We cannot ally with Stannis. Loras wants to kill him and more importantly, he may favor his Florent relatives. And as for the Lannisters, our spies say Joffrey is a cruel boy who ordered the Kingsguard to beat his betrothed."

"What about the wolves? Why not curry favor with the Starks?" Garlan asked.

"Robb Stark may have been lucky. But a callow boy cannot defeat Tywin Lannister." Mace declared.

"I was at Riverrun. The Northmen worship the Young Wolf. And the White Wolf is feared. Lord Tywin does have more knights, cavalry and men, but the North controls several castles standing in his path. Going West will not be easy for the Lannister army." Garlan said.

"The Starks have one weakness." Willas said. "They have no strong allies. Lord Eddard Stark had five trueborn children and a bastard but he crafted no true marriage bonds."

"He married his oldest daughter to Joffrey. And the Starks have strong ties to the Riverlands and the Vale." Garlan argued.

"Yes, but none of that helps. They are at war with Joffrey. The Riverlands are divided, as usual. And the Vale is silent. Lysa Arryn may have been a Tully but she refuses to send any of her knights. The Starks need betrothals that give them swords." Willas said.

"What are you thinking, Willas?" Margaery asked.

"You have an entire horde of companions and ladies in waiting. One of them could be a match with Snow. If the North falls, a betrothal with the bastard would hardly matter. But if the wolves win, then we might have a foot in the Stark camp." Willas said.

Margaery wrinkled her nose. "I have ladies in waiting but they are married. Lady Leonette is Garlan's wife, and Lady Graceford carries a child. A few others are betrothed, and Alia, Megga, and Alysanne are years from flowering."

"Perhaps we should ask our bannermen. They may have daughters to spare." Willas said.

"Very well. Garlan, please go find them." Olenna ordered.

Ser Garlan returned minutes later, with Jon Fossoway, Mathis Rowan and Baelor Hightower. Owen Fossoway had come when he heard Snow's name mentioned. Willas informed the three Lords of their thoughts.

Baelor spoke first. "Alayn has told me much of this Jon Snow. If he were granted lands, I would not object. But there are no female Hightowers of age."

"Randyll Tarly has three daughters. Talla Tarly is ten and five." Jon Fossoway noted.

"Lord Tarly would stab himself with his sword Heartsbane, than marry his daughter to a bastard." Olenna said. "If we suggested that, he would likely challenge you to a duel."

"What about bastards? Surely there are a few Flowers that are lying about that would be happy to marry another bastard. We can give him Standfast in NorthMarch." Mace said.

"There is a Falia Flowers. She is Humphrey Hewett's bastard. Lord Hewett has many daughters, and Falia is said to be buxom." Mathis Rowan said.

'Perfect. We will propose a betrothal with her to this Jon Snow." Mace said.

Owen Fossoway's face turned red. "Falia Flowers is an empty headed twit. Offering her to Jon Snow would be an insult."

Mace Tyrell blinked at such effrontery from a fourth son. Before he could retort, Garlan responded. "Owen, you know Snow well. Who do you think is the proper match?"

Owen ignored the look of caution from Jon Fossoway. "You should offer her." To the shock of many in the room, he pointed to Margaery Tyrell.

"That is outrageous. If your father was not present, you would be in chains." Mace roared.

"I am married to the King." Margaery said with insulted pride.

"Who is likely to die or stay in a coma. Archmaester Ebrose is unmatched as a healer, but he can do nothing. My Lady, Jon Snow would make you a good husband." Owen said.

"Owen, your friendship, while admirable, has blinded you. Snow is not some gallant hero without flaws." Willas said.

Owen directed his gaze at the Heir. "Jon Snow is not a hero. And I know his flaws well. He is not lovable. He is headstrong and obstinate. Sometimes at the Citadel, he was deemed proud or insolent. But he is cunning, brave and loyal. Do you want a man to eat lemon cakes and sip tea? Or do you want someone who can beat your enemies?"

"Bah, in all likelihood, the Starks will lose to Lord Tywin. So this is pointless. My daughter will never marry a bastard." Mace blustered.

"Jon Snow has no lands or titles. So cleverness aside, the hand of my granddaughter is far too great a prize." Olenna said.

"His brother is Lord of Winterfell. And he has proven his worth in battle. If he married Margaery, he would make Highgarden strong." Owen said.

The appeal to the Tyrells fell flat. They focused not on their family lands, but on the Iron Throne. "I am not the Rose of Highgarden. I am a Queen. I wish to stay a Queen, and rule over the Seven Kingdoms." Margaery said, ending the discussion. The chastised Fossoways left, as did Lord Rowan and a thoughtful Baelor Hightower. In the solar, Mace railed against green boys who thought better than wiser, more experienced elders. The Queen of Thrones agreed wholeheartedly, staring at her oblivious son. All thoughts of a marriage offer were forgotten in the ensuing rant, and the trays of lemon tarts and honeyfingers.

* * *

Jon had no idea that his marriage prospects were discussed four hundred miles away. He was focused on more immediate matters. Hoster Blackwood fed corn to the dozen ravens that had arrived that morning. Letters from Deepwood Motte, Torrhen Square, White Harbour, and Winterfell detailed their preparations for possible raids. Lady Maege sent news from the Golden Tooth, listing food and supplies delivered by the Westermen. There were messages from Acorn Hall, Stone Hedge, and Wayfarer's Rest. Small bands of Lannisters had been detected but not the entire host. The last letter was dispatched by his brother from Stony Sept, less than two hundred miles away. In three or four days, Robb would return to Riverrun.

Jon paced back and forth, looking east over the red and muddy waters of the Trident. Lord Tywin had not attacked in force yet. The Old Lion had sent scouts to probe defenses. Some were captured, others driven back to Harrenhal. Rivermen patrolled all crossings of the Trident north and south of Riverrun. More importantly, they had orders to dispatch messengers on fresh horses and find castles with ravens if there was any sign of the larger Lannister army.

It took time to muster a host of twenty thousand men. The lands around Harrenhal were vast and fertile, so the Westermen might have been pillaging one final time for forage. But it had been several weeks already since Oxcross, and still Lord Tywin had not marched. Jon thought it was an odd blunder. The North had the high ground and the castles. With the fall of the Tooth, Riverrun was well supplied. Every day that Tywin waited, he gave the North and Rivermen more time to prepare.

He walked out into the courtyard, warm from the belches of the blast furnace. Large barbed steel bolt heads, over a foot long, hissed as they cooled in water. Smallfolk were sanding and polishing steel caps and gears. Other soldiers laid out large wooden beams and ropes and the Winter Town boys were assembling machines in front of gawking bystanders.

"Lord Snow, what are those things?" Smalljon scratched his head.

On a flat wooden platform, a wooden stand, reinforced with iron, held what seemed to be half of a giant's crossbow. But the weapon did not look complete. Two steel capstans on either side were connected to tightly wound ropes. An arched strut sat at the front to allow the operator to target and the whole machine used a light but stout steel frame.

"I call this a carroballista. We will use them in the battle to come." Jon said.

A crowd had gathered, as the Karstark boys, the Hornwoods, Smalljon, and Dacey watched the Wintertown boys work on adjusting the steel frames. "I have seen ballista before, but aren't these a bit small?" Eddard asked. The bed of the weapon was waist high, and the entire device was four feet wide.

"Aye, but that is why we use steel. If you replace wood with metal, the ballista can be smaller, lighter, and more powerful." He pointed to the giant wooden shafts. "Only three men are needed to load and shoot one bolt."

The Smalljon hefted up a finished bolt. The missile was nearly his height and the Smalljon was not small. Both of his hands wrapped about the thick bolt. "This must weigh thirty pounds. Even I, Catapult Umber, would not be able to throw it a hundred feet."

Jon doubted that any man could throw a six foot bolt fifty feet. "It is a ballista, not a catapult. And it is much stronger than any crossbow. You turn the metal windlass to twist the torsion springs, and that force in the ropes propels the missile."

"Snow.. the shaft is six feet long and the metal barb is several inches wide. Why does the bolt need to be so massive? You can kill a knight with much less." Dacey asked.

"The carrobillastae is not designed to kill knights. And the Lannisters will be the first to see it in battle." Jon said. "It will be a gift from the North for Lord Tywin."

* * *

Two days later, Jon summoned the other commanders back to Riverrun. Roose Bolton and Rickard Karstark marched back on the Riverroad. Greatjon Umber rejoined the Smalljon with Glover and Hornwood men. The Blackfish stayed East, ranging to oversee the Scouts. He had sent Martyn Rivers and Tytos Blackwood to report. Edmure Tully had called his banners, and Jonos Bracken, Lyman Darry, Jason Mallister, Karyl Vance, and Clement Piper sat next to their liege lord. Lady Smallwood represented Acorn Hall, and she stayed next to Lady Whent, and a few other noble wives. Pockets of Freys were scattered through the Great Hall. The Manderly brothers, Eddard Karstark, Dacey Mormont, and Smalljon Umber had stayed at Riverrun after returning from the Golden Tooth.

Martyn Rivers rose up to speak. He was a bastard son of Lord Walder Frey, but with a ruddy face and a broad build unlike his pale faced relatives. The Blackfish considered Martyn a talented scout, and he led a dozen outriders near Harrenhal. "We have only seen sellswords going South to the God's Eye. The numbers are small, so likely to be foragers. The heavy cavalry has begin to move. There are small bands of men West and North."

"And their wagons? Have the Lannisters began to transport their supplies?" Jon asked.

"There are lots of wagons, horses and mules being packed and loaded. But they have yet to move." Martyn said, scratching his beard.

Roose Bolton spoke in a soft whisper. "I believe we should attack. The Lannisters will be exposed on the fields and farms outside Harrenhal. If we march through the night, we may be able to surprise their forces and scatter their cavalry."

"No." Jon said. "Robb will be here in a day's time. And Tywin Lannister needs to come to us. Let the Lannister march and be exhausted before the battle."

"Do you plan to hide behind castle walls?" Rickard Karstark sneered.

Jon refused to be baited. "Tywin Lannister wants to return West. He has three choices. The army can go South on the goldroad. But we know that Renly has seventy thousand men at Bitterbridge. If he attacks from the South, the lions would be destroyed. Lord Tywin can also go directly west. But we have a ring of castles - Acorn Hall, Pinkmaiden, Atranta. We would see the Lannister forces from a distance and to be safe, he would need to take the castles. Lord Tully, where else can the Lannisters cross the Red Fork?"

"I have posted men at every crossing North and South of Riverrun. They have orders that if they see an enemy army, to destroy the bridges, and make them impassable for wagons. There are places though where the river can be forded. The Red Fork is not as deep or fast as the Tumblestone. There is a mill half the distance to Pinkmaiden, where crossing would be easy." Edmure said.

"What of the areas upstream here? To the East and North?" Jon asked.

"My men and the Blackwoods guard some of the crossings. But Lord Snow, the easiest place to cross the Trident is at the junction. A few miles from where the rivers meet, there are many bridges and the water is shallow." Jason Mallister said.

"You don't mean the Ruby Ford?" Jon asked. That was where Rhaegar Targaryen had died in battle with Robert Baratheon.

"The Ruby Ford is too far east. But just a mile west of Three River Point, the Red Fork can be passed. Lord Shawney held those lands before he was attainted for supporting the Blackfyres." Tytos Blackwood said.

"But what of the Blue Fork? Is that also passable near there?" Jon asked.

"It can be. But thanks to the heavy rains, the Blue Fork is flooding its banks, and the rising waters have washed out the bridges from Ramsford to the Fairmarket. You would have to go far north, nearly a hundred miles to Oldstones, past Blackwood Hall." Tytos said.

"We will not hide behind walls, Lord Karstark. We will attack the Lannisters when they cross the Trident. That will be when their forces are the most vulnerable. Whether they go West or North, we will give battle when their horse and wagons need to ford the river." Jon said.

"That is sensible. The west bank of the Trident is higher than the East and wooded. We can have archers hidden in the forests." Edmure said.

"We will crush them, like Harrion and Torrhen did at the Broken Bridge." Smalljon cried. He was eager to show the Karstark brothers that the Umbers were the true warriors of the North. The Smalljon also could care less what the Freys thought.

"This battle will not be so easy." Jon warned. "In the encounters so far, we have had the element of surprise. There will be none here. And Lord Tywin has spent years building up his forces. Lannister men wear heavy steel armor, carry the best weapons that Casterly Rock can make, and ride well trained destriers."

"We will win. The Young Wolves are unbeaten in the field." Dacey said with a crooked smile.

Jon did not share her sentiments. Oxcross and the Tooth had given the North great confidence. But Tywin Lannister was not a dolt like Ser Stafford.

* * *

He sat with Chett, Clydas, and the other Wintertown boys, speaking about the different methods of fortifications. They looked over the journals that Jon had written at the Citadel, and the pictures of trenches, siege towers, and earthworks. Jon dismissed the crew when he heard a tentative knock at the door.

"What is it, Gerion?" Jon asked the hesitant boy.

"It is the prisoners. One of the Lannisters has asked for you." Gerry said in an uncertain voice.

"Very well. I am done for the night." he said.

Ghost accompanied him to the Maidenvault. The Mormont soldiers had been replaced with a mixture of Winterfell and Tully men. The Stark men wore silver mail, steel caps, and a white tabard decorated with a grey dire wolf. The Tully guards had helms with fish crests and wide bladed spears. The short square keep was quite crowded now, and all the rooms were full. Jon had emptied most of the dungeons, seeing no need to keep lowborn prisoners. After the capture of the Golden Tooth, the common soldiers were even more eager to agree to a ransom. The highborn prisoners had swelled in number.

Jon waited near the fire. It was twilight and the pinkish glow of the sky was fading. The short stub of a candle dripped wax on the oak table. The Stark guards bought a big blond man into the room. Ser Kevan sat down on the other side, his face a deep grimace. Jon bade the guards to leave. Ghost was more than enough to defend him against a weaponless Lannister. He waited for the man to begin.

"Snow, you have filled up this keep with squires and captives." Kevan began.

"Aye, it is a new Casterly Rock. More Lannisters here than the Westerlands." Jon said.

"My Lady wife does not belong here. And Janei should be elsewhere." Kevan said. "Have they been treated poorly, Ser? I have made it clear to Lord Tully that prisoners are not to be harmed or insulted." Jon said.

"No. The guards have been respectful, and kind to Janei. But my wife was the only lady you took, and I would ask that she and my daughter be returned to the Golden Tooth."

Jon had underestimated Ser Kevan. "You have heard of my vows at the Tooth."

"Martyn told me. He said you swore that when the war ended, the prisoners will be returned safe and sound. You made no such oath at Riverrun. I believe that you value the honor of House Stark. My wife does not deserve to fear for her life." Kevan said.

"Lady Dorna does not deserve that. But many people do not deserve their fate." Jon said.

"She is innocent. And my daughter has three name days." Kevan said.

Rhaenys was murdered when she had three name days, Jon thought. She was also a child, caught up in a bloody war. "Why should I even hear your request, Ser? Why should I care?"

Kevan marshalled his arguments. "I am not without influence. I have several hundred knights, and the ear of my brother. My counsel carries weight at Casterly Rock and King's Landing."

Jon snorted. "Please. If Tywin Lannister could take my head, you would not stop him. You could not stop him. You are duty bound to your house, and they are no friend of the Starks."

"It is true that my brother wants you dead. But wars do not last forever. It is possible that the wolves and lions fight to the last drop of blood, but also possible that both houses survive. The Starks and Lannisters have lasted thousands of years. I would not betray my family but if I could do your sisters a kindness, or speak for peace in the future, I would. I cannot speak for Tywin but I would forego revenge. These are not small things." Kevan said.

Jon considered the offer. Ser Kevan wanted to keep his wife and daughter safe. He had not asked anything for his sons or himself. "I do not doubt your words, Ser, but I will make no decision before the battle. If I grant this request, it will not be because I feared your brother."

"What if you die in the upcoming battle?" Kevan asked.

"Pray that I live then." Jon jested and then turned serious. "I do not wish harm on Lady Dorna or your daughter. You have my word. And the Starks have always held that an oath will pursue an oathkeeper and oathbreaker to the world's end."

* * *

Jon ate a simple lunch, taking care that the meat juices did not drip on the parchment. He had no desire to partake in a meal with the many lords and commanders. At his request, the kitchen had placed hot roast beef in onion gravy between two thick slices of wheat bread. It was a fine meal washed down with watered down ale.

Harrenhal was closer to the junction of the Trident than Riverrun, but the Northmen had a huge advantage. They could use the River Road that ran all the way from Casterly Rock to Riverrun and finally ended at the Inn of the Crossroads. The Lannisters would have to march over forests and hills. Even at a tiring pace, it would take the infantry over a week to move a hundred miles. Plus, much of the Northern forces were already further east. Bolton, Karstark, and Bracken infantry were three days forced march from Three Rivers Point, and Vance and Mallister soldiers patrolled nearby crossings. As soon as the outriders spotted the Lannister advance, the Northern army would move to intercept.

Jon heard the sound of cheers in the distance. He warged into the black raven. A dozen horses were riding from the South, led by a strong young man with thick brown hair, and a heavy fur coat draped over his back. A lean dire wolf with grey smoke fur ran by his side, nearly as large as the white courser. Robb Stark and Grey Wind had returned to Riverrun.

Jon stood outside with Dacey Mormont and other members of the battleguard. Smallfolk, soldiers and lords waited eagerly in the courtyard and at the windows. Robb grinned and then grimaced slightly when he dismounted. Grey Wind greeted Ghost with a loud snort, and the two dire wolves raced off to the godswood. Robb's guards had returned with Lady Catelyn but there were four others, two men and two women. Three wore plate mail of different colors - red, yellow and blue. The other woman was garbed in simple gray robes.

"Lord Stark. The army is yours." Jon said with a bow.

"Thanks, Snow." Robb said. He turned to the crowd assembled in the yard. "My lords, knights, and soldiers, even in the Stormlands, they tell of the great victories at Oxcross and the Golden Tooth. Now it is time for the final battle in the Riverlands. Together we will defeat the Lannister forces and bring Lord Tywin to justice."

The cheers lasted for a long time. Jon waited until the men thinned away, and only a few of the Battle Guard remained. Finally, they made it to the Great Hall, where servants rushed to place half a dozen dishes on the long table. Jon noted with dismay that they did not serve Robb any trout. Instead, smells of roast chicken, suckling pig, and fresh bread filled the ball.

"Jon, I want you to introduce you.' Robb said. "Ser Robar Royce, Ser Emmon Cuy, Brienne of Tarth, and Lady Talisa."

"Pleased to meet you. Stark, you went to an army of seventy thousand for an alliance and you came back with three swords?" Jon asked.

"And a healer." Robb said. "Lady Talisa healed me from my injury at the hands of a shadow assassin."

"Lord Stark also saved us from the Tyrells. Ser Loras would have hung us for treason otherwise." Robar said.

Jon arched his eyebrows. "You left a great deal unsaid in your raven."

"As did you." Robb finished down his mug of ale. He stood up. "Come on, Snow. We have much to talk about."

"But Robb, you have just arrived after many hours of riding. We had no food this morning, and you are still injured." Catelyn said. The dark haired healer voiced her agreement.

"We have a battle to plan. And I have a great deal to tell Jon. I assume he has much to tell me." Robb said. Olyvar Frey stood up as well to accompany his lord. "Sit. All of you should eat, and rest. Those are my orders." The two brother walked off alone.

They spoke for hours on many different things. Once again, Jon marvelled at the speed of his brother's understanding of military matters. Robb had a natural flair for tactics. He crafted a plan of attack - imaginative, audacious, and quite dangerous. Jon would have to prepare the stage.

"Should I leave now?" he asked.

Robb shook his head. "No, I will address the commanders first. They should know how the battle will enfold. Your position will be the most dangerous."

"There is no victory without risk. And no peace unless we win this war." Jon said.

* * *

They met in the great hall with the lords and commanders of both the North and the Riverlands. Only the Blackfish and Lady Mormont were absent. Robb spoke about his month in the Reach, and the Stormlands. The story of the Baratheon brothers and the shadow assassin mesmerized the audience, and the well respected Ser Robar confirmed the tale.

Roose Bolton stood up. "Lord Stark, if Stannis Baratheon is a kinslayer, and Renly is hurt, then who does the North support for the Throne?

"I do not know, my Lord. But it does not matter." Robb said.

The Greatjon banged a meaty fist on the table. "I say we declare the North independent. There is the only man... "

"Enough, My Lord. We have more important things to do. Regardless of who wishes to hold King's Landing, we need to defeat Tywin Lannister and break his army. The North and the Riverlands will not deal with the Iron Throne from a position of weakness." Robb said.

"What are your plans for defeating Lord Tywin?" Dacey asked.

"We prevent the Lannisters from going south. The Gold Road meets Blazewater Rush southwest of the God's Eye. It is a deep and swift river. Destroy the bridge there. Make certain it cannot be passed." Robb said.

"Lord Stark, there is no sign that the Lannisters are going South." Martyn Rivers said.

"It does not matter. I will not risk them escaping. It is two hundred fifty miles due West from Harrenhal to the Red Fork. If their army moves that way, we will bleed them and make them pay for every mile they march. We will not give battle, but attack their horses and raid their supplies. Which leaves the Northern crossing where the three Forks meet. That is where the battle will be. It is the shortest way for Tywin to cross the Trident." Robb said.

"But Lord Stark. If the battle is at the ford, do you mean to split our forces?" Edmure Tully asked.

"We do not have enough. Between the North and the Rivermen, we have seventeen thousand men. The Lannisters have twenty five thousand men. We cannot split our forces into two."

"How then, do you expect to stop them from crossing?" Roose Bolton whispered.

"I will hold the other side." Jon said.

"My brother will hold the Northern side of the Fork. He will have two thousand men. I will command the rest of the army South of the River." Robb said.

"Two thousand men cannot hold back an army of ten thousand horse and fifteen thousand foot. Even if they must cross a river. The Lannisters will overrun you." Bolton said.

"Lord Snow, I will join you. Tywin Lannister burned and pillaged my lands. He will not cross my river." Edmure said.

"My thanks, Lord Tully. I will need men who can work and build. Our defenses will not just be the river." Jon said. Catapult Umber was eager to join, as were Eddard and his brothers. Mallister and Blackwood men could lend a hand before returning to the main army. Robb would need as many soldiers as he could get to engage the Lannisters. So would Jon.

* * *

Arya Stark saw the three story inn first, with turrets and chimneys of white stone. Her night vision was better than both Gendry and Hot Pie, and she had been here before, with the king and her father, when her sister still bragged about being Joffrey's betrothed. She had a dire wolf then with dark golden eyes and grey fur, and she loved the wolf and the wolf loved her. That had been a thousand years ago.

They had travelled for a week in the shadow of the Lannister army, resting during the day and walking at night. Hot Pie had stolen a sack full of bread from Harrenhal but the bread had gone hard and stale, and they finished it last night. They had no food left.

The Inn at the Crossroads had seen better days. A rusted gibbet hung outside the yard and the wall of broken white stones was overgrown by moss. The ground was all weeds, dead brown grass, and a sea of brown mud. An oxcart with a broken wheel blocked the stables. Arya crept around in the darkness. There were no horses. For an inn to have no horses, even in the middle of the night - Arya wished once again she had Needle.

"Halt. Who goes there?" A young girl was on the porch, pointing a crossbow.

Hot Pie flung his hands up in the air. Gendry pulled the hands down. "We mean no harm. We are just travellers." Gendry said.

Two little boys and another girl appeared. They were Rickon's size but the girl with the crossbow must have been nine or ten. "Who are you?" the oldest girl demanded.

"My name is Gendry. I am a smith. I heard that you had a forge. We could work for our keep."

"I am a baker. I can make bread, pies and cakes." Hot Pie shouted.

The girl lowered the crossbow. "We have rooms but no food. The Lannisters took all of our flour, ale, butter and meat."

"We are running away from them too." Hot Pie said.

"Why?" The girl's face turned hard and suspicious as she raised the crossbow again.

Hot Pie blubbered again. Arya came out of the shadows and into the moonlight. "Who would not want to run away from the Lannisters? They killed our friend and forced us to work."

The bony faced girl relaxed. If she wasn't so thin, she might have been pretty. "They hung my great aunt from the gibbet outside. Some lady arrested the Imp here, and they killed her for it."

"Can we stay for the night?" Arya asked bluntly.

The girl nodded. "We don't turn away any children." She lit a short tallow candle as they walked in the dark inn. Arya could see many sets of curious eyes in the common room. "It wasn't so bad before. But the Lannisters moved North and they took everything we have."

"And the wolves are going to kill us all." a boy's voice squeaked.

"Shut up, Ben. We all need to get some sleep." And the girl blew out the candle.

That night, Arya dreamed that she was a wolf again, with a great pack that ranged over rivers, fields, and forests under the harvest moon. She was a great fierce she-wolf, stronger and swifter than her dozens and dozens of smaller cousins. She could kill stags, outrun horses and outfight lions. She had four brothers, and a sister that had been slain, but her brothers had not forgotten her. And they were coming to bring her home, her brothers - mighty and terrible, the grey king with no fear and the white wolf who stood alone. These brothers had drank the blood of men in battle. In wolf dreams, her belly was not hungry and she had no fear. She would run free.

Arya awoke next morning, the yard loud with noise. Huddled outside were dozens of peasants, and the ten year old tried her best to guard the door. "What's happened?" she asked.

Gendry pointed outside to the desperate smallfolk, praying and sobbing. "They are fleeing from the Trident. Five miles away, they saw soldiers, thousands of them."

Willow Heddle turned. "They say that the Northmen are building across the Red Fork - Ditches, Walls, Towers. There is a banner - a white dire wolf on a black field. The Bloody Wolf is here."

**Author's Notes**

To write this chapter, I reread the Arya chapters in the first two books. The scenes with the Mountain and at Harrenhal are brutal. It is torture porn which culminates with the Ramsay/Theon/Reek plot. I realize this is a departure from the book, where Arya freed the Northmen, which led to Roose Bolton's men behaving just as bad or even worse at the castle. If you think about her arc, Arya's transformation from misfit to psychopath is convincing because she is traumatized by witnessing tremendous cruelty.

In the book, both Hot Pie and Gendry want to stay in the castle, so Arya lies and says Vargo Hoat will chop off their feet. But by the time Jaime returns to Harrenhal in Book 4, all the servants except three are dead. Here, wild stories about the Tooth reach the castle, and Gendry is smart enough to understand the danger and try to leave. Is that a stretch? Possibly. At least at the castle, you get fed. But so was Arya not using Jaqen to kill Tywin, which is the obvious way to use a deadly assassin. But to be fair, she is young and just trying to survive.

The Inn at the Crossroads is a cliche. It is the Dungeons and Dragons tavern where quests are given. That said, it is a cool cliche and also the place where Arya snaps - killing the Tickler in both the book and the show. It is a great scene.

An Army marches on its stomach. It is attributed to either Napoleon or Frederick the Great. It has always been true, and Caesar's Gallic Wars really drive home how important supplies were.

The Myraham is the name of the ship that Theon takes in the books. And in the books, he drinks and wenches with Patrek Mallister.

In the TV show, Brienne slays two members of the Rainbow Guard in self defense. In the books, Ser Loras kills the knights. This is more based on the book version.

Discipline is the soul of the army is attributed to George Washington. It is humorous that Von Steuben, a Prussian who became a military chief of staff to Washington, said that "With regard to military discipline, I may safely say that no such thing existed in the Continental Army."

In the books, there is a convoluted plot where Ser Dontos, the drunkard, is Baelish's point man in spiriting Sansa out of King's Landing. This is why she doesn't accept Tyrion's offer of safety and then she screws up the Tyrell plot by telling Dontos. I personally think this requires too many lucky bounces. Either that, or Petyr Baelish has the luck of the Irish for five books, and upsets the leprechauns in Season 7. The biggest problem is not the psychology but Tyron and Varys being too dumb to post spies on Sansa. How does Sansa make frequent trips to the godswood to see Ser Dontos without others knowing?

The water clock was invented by the Egyptians but improved by Greeks and Romans. In the Middle Ages, advanced water clocks were used in the Islamic world but seems to have disappeared from Western Europe. In the fourth century BC, Athenian brothels used water clocks to set a time limit on clients!

Standfast is Ser Eustace Osgrey's castle in the Sworn Sword, Dunk and Egg's second book. It is a small keep not as impressive as Coldmoat. Mace thinks this is a great boon for a bastard but Owen Fossoway does not. Owen's loyalty to Jon comes into play after the wars. As for why the Tyrells didn't offer Margaery to Robb, she is still married. The Tyrells are thinking about small steps. And Olenna knows that Robb has no desire or claim on the Throne.

Falia Flowers is mentioned in Aeron and Victarion Greyjoy's POV chapters. When Euron takes the Shield Islands, Falia is a servant to her many sisters at Oakenshield. Falia suggests that her mother and sisters serve naked, she becomes pregnant by Euron Greyjoy, and she thinks that she will be his salt wife. Later, we see her naked, tied to the prow of Euron's boat, the Silence, and her tongue has been cut out.

The carroballista is a Roman invention. The Roman improved on Greek technology to make a mounted field artillery. Each legion had 55 carroballistae and the weapons were used in sieges and battles, and on land and sea. Compared to Greek machines, the Roman ballistae had an all iron frame and wider sight mechanisms, making for greater accuracy. Reports in 400 AD have the ballista shooting 1000 meters, or across the entire width of the Danube River. Copy and paste the entry below to see what Jon's adaption looks like.

wiki/De_rebus_bellicis#

The suggestion from Roose Bolton is similar to his maneuver in the Battle of Green Fork. He force marches overnight to attack the Lannisters. It is absurd - GRRM has them marching 60 miles at night! And they are exhausted the next morning. Readers may also note that Roose also orders a march to Duskendale, where the Mountain ambushes them and Randyll Tarly destroys the remaining Northmen.

"For so sworn good or evil an oath may not be broken and it will pursue an oathkeeper and oathbreaker to the world's end." In the Silmarillion, Feanor and his sons swear a terrible oath to regain the Silmarils. Newsflash - it ends very, very badly.

The sandwich was invented by the Earl of Sandwich in the 18th century. He did not want to get up to eat while he was playing cribbage. Of course, like many things, other cultures arguably created the dish earlier. For example, lamb wrapped in matzah was eaten at Passover around the start of the Roman Empire. It would not surprise me if Romans ate meat with bread. After all, many claim the Roman army invented pizza.

This battle is a revision of the Battle of the Fords. The strategy that Tywin chooses in the books is odd. He probes dozens of places, some of them ten miles away from each other. There is a quote where Brienne explains the strategy to Catelyn. IMHO, It would have been difficult to coordinate. The book talks about crossings near Riverrun, upstream, downstream. It may make sense if you vastly outnumber your opponent, but it seems more reasonable to send scouts and concentrate your attack. The Northern army are still in the Riverlands, so he does not want to cross directly into that army and devises a plan that may take several days more, but allows him to avoid the castles. Tywin intends to cross the Fork near the junction, send his men West on the Tumblestone side so protected from Riverrun. He plans to follow that side West of the River to the Golden Tooth and besiege it.

Of course, people could argue that Tywin should just take the direct path and bull his way West. Adding 70+ miles north, then having to go back south the same amount - that would seem like a lot of time. BUT, it is much easier to travel next to a river, with a flat terrain and water than across fields. Crossing due West - through castles, usually built on hills, would add a lot of time.

That is Willow Heddle at the Inn at the Crossroads. The Heddles only appear in two Brienne chapters in A Feast for Crows. In the books, Hot Pie gets a job at the Inn of the Kneeling Man and Gendry is at the Inn of the Crossroads defending orphans. In the TV show, the scenes happen at the Inn at the Crossroads. The woman who captures the Imp is Catelyn Stark. Tywin Lannister hangs Masha Heddle for that.

The battle strategy that Jon and Robb uses in the next chapter is derived from Greek and Roman tactics. Tywin has advantages in numbers and quality of troops. Jon and Robb are focused on the terrain and tactics.


	21. The Wolves Go To War

**The Wolves Go to War**

Even in the afternoon, six beeswax candles on the silver and gold candelabra burned in the large red tent. Half a dozen ornate chairs clustered around a walnut wood table and a tall, broad shouldered man sat in the finest chair, his pale green eyes focused on letters. Tywin Lannister had paid a fortune for special ravens that could return back to his tent. The Maesters who attended the birds were kept under strict guard, so that messages stayed secure.

The tent flaps opened and four men walked in. The largest, eight feet tall with massive shoulders and arms the size of tree trunks, towered over the rest, even though two of the other men were strong and powerful fighters. One of those warriors, with dark shoulder length copper hair that matched his burnished bronze armor, stepped forward.

"Lord Lannister, the Northerners have been fortifying the North and West side of the Trident, near the junction of the three forks." Addam Marbrand said.

"How long?" Tywin asked.

"At least four days, perhaps more." Marbrand said.

"And why was I not told earlier?" Tywin said. A chinless man wearing a yellow doublet with a blue rooster shook in fear. The other three men were less craven.

"Clegane's men were scouting north. A dozen were found a day ago, hung from wooden gallows on the South Side of the River. Crows and ravens ate their eyes. We believe they snuck over to spy on the Northerners and were caught. Clegane interrogated the peasants. The banner of the White Wolf has been flying for days." Marbrand said.

"I will kill that fucker Snow. I will cut out his eyes and smash his head." The Mountain said.

Tywin looked at his monster with distaste. "So why haven't you? I gave you a thousand men."

The chinless man clasped his hands together, looking more like a septon than a knight. Harys Swyft looked as brave as the chicken of his house. "There are miles and miles of walls, ten feet high, with ditches and spikes. A dozen watchtowers rise from the ramparts and more are built every day. Smoke burns at all hours from behind the walls. Who knows what foul rituals and vile sorcery this bastard is conjuring." Harys ranted. Tywin revised his opinion. A chicken had more courage and sense than the Knight of Cornfield.

"My Lord, I beg the honor of leading the attack. The wolves captured my father. My cousins were dragged in chains from the Golden Tooth to Riverrun." Lyle Crakehall cried. The Strongboar clenched his ham like fists.

Addam Marbrand hid his emotions better. "Lord Lannister, I would welcome my chance to try my steel against this Snow boy. My father may have withdrawn from battle but I seek revenge for my brother, goodsister, and nephew."

Tywin snorted and locked his eyes on Clegane. "Have you gone soft, Clegane? He killed your men. Cross the river and kill him." The brute stomped from the tent, with Harys Swyft following.

Tywin stared at the two angry knights. "Swyft is a lost cause. I thought you two had more sense. What banner do the Starks fly in war?"

The Strongboar looked confused, much like his fierce but not overbright father. Ser Addam answered. "A snarling gray dire wolf on a white field."

"Our reports do not mention the bastard having his own coat of arms, and yet, he shows up, flying a White Wolf. Why?" Tywin answered his own question. "He wants us to know he is there, for you to attack him."

"Lord Lannister, we all want to attack him. We know his crimes in the Westerlands. If we send ten thousand men across, we would break his defenses, regardless of the wall." Marbrand said.

"And how many men would you lose? What do you think Snow has prepared? Caltrops? Iron spikes? He will have trapped the river and dug pits." Tywin said.

"Caltrops and spikes will kill a hundred men at most. But we will still win, and we would cross the Red Fork." Marbrand said. "Our scouts say the main army is West."

"No, Clegane will waste his scum to set off the traps. Some jobs are suitable for dogs and goats. Lions will attack when we are ready." Tywin said, dismissing them. He called for a maester and send a raven to the Inn of the Kneeling Man.

* * *

Robb greeted Ser Brynden as he led the houses pledged to House Tully into the command tent. Robb and his guard had ridden last night past the Inn of the Kneeling Man. They bivouacked near the River Road, and rivermen from the West and the South joined them. Piper and Vance men still marched, but the bulk of the army had assembled. Even Roose Bolton and Rickard Karstark attended the meeting, although their infantry were twenty miles behind, near the inn.

Wendel Manderly and Dacey Mormont stood closest to Robb, as he inspected the large map of Riverlands. Ser Robar and Ser Emmon answered questions about the Tyrells, as newcomers sought to hear wild tales about Baratheon treachery and the Red Witch. Robb welcomed the distraction which allowed the Blackfish and Martyn Rivers to speak quietly about the enemy forces. The Lannister army was less than forty miles away.

"The walls are astonishing. Perwyn rode back with a report. The White Wolf has built miles and miles of defenses, ditches, towers, walls. He has scorpions, trebuchet, ballista and all sorts of terrifying weapons. He will give the lions a fierce battle." Ser Stevron said.

"Snow has a catapult with him, too! Catapult Jon Umber. My son will deal a mighty blow, just as he did at the Tooth and at the Whispering Woods." the Greatjon roared.

"Hoster and Brynden are there too." Ser Lucas Blackwood said of his two brothers. "Blackwoods built the walls and will defend the Red Fork with Ser Edmure."

"Then they will be swept away. Brynden Blackwood doesn't know a sword from his arse. And Hoster - well that boy is so weak that my girls could snap him like a twig. And if Blackwood men built the walls, no doubt they will fall from a stiff breeze." Jonos Bracken said.

"You bitter old fool. You are hoping for our defeat. Do you plan to betray us to the Lannisters?" Tytos Blackwood yelled.

"Face sense, you dolt. Snow has only two thousand men. If the Lannisters launch an attack with their full army, the walls would fall." Jonos Bracken retorted.

The two Lords went chin to chin, and their relatives, Harry Rivers and Hendry Bracken faced off with Ser Lucas and Little Ben Blackwood. Ben was Karyl Vance's new squire and looked tiny compared to the broad and sturdy Hendry. Lord Tytos was a few inches taller but Lord Jonos was heavier with thick shoulders and burly arms fattened by age. Robb sighed. No one could resolve the Blackwood - Bracken feud but he had enough arguing for one night.

"Stop. Lord Bracken is right." Robb said sternly. "If the Lannisters launched their army over the Red Fork, they would shatter the wall. Ten thousand men could sweep away those defenses."

An astonished Greatjon yelped. "But.. but... should we not send more men? What will happen to Maester Snow then?"

"Jon would most likely die. Even the best general cannot defeat more than four times his number, and the Westermen are better armed and armored." Robb said to the shocked crowd. "What is the key to defeating Lord Tywin? What has Jon focused on since my father was slain?"

Robb's remarks stunned the tent into silence. He answered his own question. "Food, my brother has focused on the food - stored in wagons, guarded by the infantry. Ser Brynden?"

"The wagons are forty miles away from the Trident. The roads are narrow and rutted. It will take four days to reach the Red Fork. And the crossing will be slow." The Blackfish said.

"If the Lannisters send all their cavalry across the Trident, they would abandon their supply train. We could counterattack the wagons and capture their supplies. The men holding the Red Fork would die. But the Lannister army would be doomed." Robb said.

"Stark, my son Eddard is on the Northern side. How could you abandon him?" Rickard Karstark cried. His two older sons, Harrion and Torrhen, scowled.

"Lord Karstark, if I am willing to sacrifice my brother, then you can lose one of your sons." Robb snapped. "If they cross the Red Fork, the Lannisters have to travel over three hundred miles to the Golden Tooth. Without food or supplies, how would their men fare? They would starve long before they returned West. They cannot cross the Blue Fork. Our troops would hold the South. If they fled North, we would crush them against the Trident or Ironman's Bay." Robb's face stayed hard. "My Lords and knights, Jon knew all of this. My brother and I planned this together. He volunteered to hold the river crossing. Two thousand lives would buy victory over twenty five thousand if Lord Tywin ordered a full attack."

"Lord Stark, is there no other way?" Ser Brynden asked.

Robb shrugged. "My brother does not think Lord Tywin will send his entire cavalry. Jon believes that the Old Lion is too wary, and that after the Broken Bridge and the Golden Tooth, Tywin will probe and search for weak points first. Jon expects the Lions to send a few hundred men, then a thousand, and only when those have failed, mount a full attack. In that case, we have several days and our forces would be ready to charge the Lannister flank during the attack"

"But you are not certain?" Greatjon Umber asked, worried about his son.

"No, Lord Umber. Tywin Lannister may be wary but his men are not. The Mountain, sellswords, and the Westermen knights - these are not men of caution. But there is a price to be paid in battle, and House Stark has fought wars for eight thousand years." Robb said.

In the gloom that fell over the tent, Robb did not notice the shadow of concern that passed over Roose Bolton's face or the mutterings of Ryman Frey. He thought of his father's words. _"A lord may love the men he commands but he cannot be a friend to them. One day, he may need to sit in judgment on them, or send them forth to die."_ My brother, Robb thought - I may have sent him to die. But Jon knew. He did not shrink from duty. And Robb would not either.

* * *

The food had disappeared around the copper lake. Rabbits, goats, boars, stags. The scent of horse and mule were strong but they were guarded by men with sharp spears and axes. Nymeria did not care, but her little cousins feared men, even dead men. Her pack was gaunt and silent, hundreds of wolves hungry for prey. They looked to her, the alpha, to guide them. And so she went North, leading her pack. They passed through burnt villages, the bones of men hanging from apple trees picked clean of any fruit, and ruined farms with no sign of life. The she-wolf sniffed in the air. In the brambles and tangles of the underbrush, along the narrow gullies and ditches hidden from the roads, Nymeria smelled the scent of a girl, her girl. There had been a skinny little girl once, that had hugged her, and cradled her in sleep, and even tried to give her a bath. The dire wolf had lost that girl, somewhere near the deep and swift waters, where half drowned trees dripped on pools of brackish water. Nymeria remembered a hug from the crying girl, then a lot of babble, and then rocks thrown that hit her in the snout and ribs. But that was a thousand years ago, when she was weak and small. Now she was grown, a queen among wolves - strong and fierce, like the brothers of her litter.

Nymeria heard the bells first through the trees. Men on horses, led by one with three silver bells in his long braided hair, oiled with fatty grease drippings. They rode through the rain armed in leather and chain, swords and axe clanking. There were four men, muttering their mantalk, pointing into the dark, wary as a baby fawn. Nymeria waited until the men passed and the horses began to snort and whinny in fear. She rushed forward and ripped the belly of a brown charger open, blood and guts spilling on the dirt road.

The other mounts screamed and reared in terror, and dozens of other wolves hurtled through the rain to attack. Her brothers and sisters killed the hairy man, tore apart the feet and arms of a dark man, and savaged the pale man fleeing as his horse succumbed to bites at the thighs and knees. Only the belled man kept his saddle, and drew a curved metal claw, standing his ground. Nymeria slid into the shadows and when the man swung the blade forward, the she-wolf sprang and clamped hers jaw around the neck, biting through hair, skin and bones, blood spurting into the air. Her paws landed on the muscled back of the horse, ripping and tearing, and the dappled stallion fell heavily to the ground. Nymeria spat out three silver bells, and the head rolled on the ground. The pack fell upon the wounded horses and devoured them alive.

* * *

Black smoke from two dozen fires drifted South over the Trident. The Northmen and Rivermen had cut down every single tree on the Northern shore of the trident. The logs, thick as a man's thigh, were stacked in huge piles, to be sharpened at the top and hardened by fire. These were stakes, and Jon put the vast quantities of timber to good use.

Three thousand men had worked six long back breaking days to build a set of fortifications unlike any seen before in the Riverlands. Jon's army was two thousand strong, but Mallisters, Blackwoods, even curious detachments from other commanders had volunteered. Eddard Karstark and Smalljon Umber led the men in the hard work, and Chett, Gerion, and the other Wintertown boys dashed here and there, relaying orders.

Jon stood at the palisade ten feet high, a thousand feet back from the north edge of the Red Fork. Even the best archer in the Raven's Teeth could only shoot a thousand feet with a weirwood bow. Two hundred feet from the river, Jon had constructed the first trench, ten feet wide and ten feet deep, in a jagged V shape that stretched the entire two miles of the fords. The edges were anchored by the Red Fork, as it turned swift, wide and deep. An attacker would have to descend, cross the narrow bottom, and climb out the opposite side of the ditch.

That trench had been dug to break up a charge over the Red Fork, and to prevent the enemy from swooping down at night, or volleying arrows at men working during the day. Jon could not spare any men or boys for guard duty. Every soldier exerted his full energy on the fortifications. With the first trench as an obstacle, there were no attacks besides a band of foul mouthed soldiers wearing the three dogs of House Clegane. Ghost had tracked them, and Jon and Umber men had captured the foul mouthed bunch, and hung them all after questioning them.

The defensive works that followed were far more important. Four hundred and seven hundred feet from the first obstacle were two other trenches, twelve feet wide and ten feet deep. A stream flowed off the Blue Fork, and by careful digging, Jon diverted that water into the inner trench, where the ground was low and level with the plain. Behind the trenches, he constructed a rampart and a palisade ten feet high. The rampart was excavated into the ground, making one final deadly ditch to cross.

On top of the palisade, Jon built an embattled breastwork with crude wooden roof. The roof would absorb any missile fire from above. The breastworks would offer cover and concealment to archers and spearmen. Large stakes, cut like stag's horns, jutted around where the breastwork joined the rampart, checking the ascent of the enemy. They had constructed two dozen watchtowers, and the men steadily built more in between, so that the final intervals between each station would be 80 yards. The siege machines were stored near the watchtowers, and ramps were built so that sets of horses pulling the carroballista could climb onto the palisade.

The hard work had been the extensive ditches and the palisade. That had taken a great deal of manpower. Now, the Wintertown boys were directing another set of defenses that would cost the Lannisters dearly. Closest to the walls, short trenches were being dug, five feet deep. Sets of stakes were planted in rows and fastened to the bottom, while the boughs stuck out. Any who stepped in would impale themselves on the sharp stakes. These were called gravestones. In front of those, shorter pits of two or three feet deep were dug, and stakes were planted in them, with the tips projecting not more than a few fingers above the ground. The earth was smoothed around the fingers and the pit covered with twigs and brushwood. These were lilies, named for the resemblance to those flowers. Lastly, there were blocks of wood a foot long with iron spikes, buried in the earth and scattered in all directions. These were spurs. Lannister men would have to cross rows and rows of deadly traps under deadly fire.

"By the old Gods, Snow, those Southron knights will shit themselves when they see this." Smalljon yelled. Chett and Clydas guided a team of two mules up a ramp. Jon stepped behind the carroballista, and peered toward the river. He aimed the bolt toward the Red Fork. The siege machine could reach as far as the middle of the muddy river but the Winter Town boys had orders to aim the deadly weapon only at enemies past the second trench.

"I have not read about these types of defenses in the histories at Blackwood Hall." Hoster said, as he tended a dozen ravens at the watchtower.

"Could I shoot the ballista? Just once?" The Smalljon pleaded.

"Umber, we need every single bolt. We still need to do more to prepare: dig pits, set traps, stock missiles, erect watchtowers." Jon said.

"Maester Snow, we must be ready. You have two miles of walls and many more ditches and pits. You have more traps than I have ever seen." Edmure said.

Jon shook his head. After finishing the last ditch, a thousand Mallister and Blackwood men departed to rejoin Robb's host. Once again, there were only two thousand to hold the Red Fork. "We can never stop preparing. When Lord Tywin truly attacks, we will be outnumbered - perhaps by four or five times. We will need every single bolt, arrow, spear and sword. Our traps will not defeat the Lannisters, only bleed their men. We will have to defend the walls, and send troops to weak points. We will have much to do when the real battle begins. The more we prepare now, the easier we kill the enemy then."

Eddard Karstark chuckled at Smalljon's grumbling. Satin rushed across to them, waving his hands. "Maester, we see men crossing the Trident. Gerry spotted them from the watchtower."

Jon looked through the spyglass. A huge man in thick plate rode a giant destrier, his head encased in a full helmet with only slits for eyes. Behind him, dirty unwashed men at arms carried a banner with three dogs on a yellow field. "It is the Mountain and his thieves." Jon said.

Jon blew a warhorn. Soldiers working on pits and traps pulled back immediately. Ladders and ramps were dropped down, and men rushed back over the palisade. In a moment, the entirety of his forces were on the walls. Jon continued to gaze through the glass. He made a slight motion to Hoster, who released a raven to fly over the fortifications.

"Maester Snow, what should we do? Should we fire the catapults and ballistas?" Edmure asked.

"I am counting the men." Jon said. "Smalljon, you have good eyes. How many do you see?"

The Smalljon took a rapid count. "More than five hundred, less than a thousand."

"No ballista. Let them get closer." Jon said.

"But this is the Mountain. We must attack." Edmure said. "He is a vile creature who pillaged and burnt the lands of my bannermen. He raped Jonos Bracken's daughter."

"Everything you say is true, but we must wait, Ser. Our defenses are built for a charge of ten thousand men. The Mountain is a dog who must be put down. In single combat or in a charge, he is deadly. But one thousand feet away, with a wall and a field of traps, he poses little threat. One thousand men cannot take this wall." Jon said.

"His men are scum. My father took us to Wendish Town for a fair years ago. The Mountain's men burned down the town's timber walls. When smallfolk fled the fire, they shot them down with arrows, even women with suckling babes." Brynden Blackwood spat.

"We are not women with babes. We are not smallfolk to be burnt out of our homes. We are two thousand strong and ready for battle." Jon said.

"Lord Snow, his men could still shoot at us." Eddard Karstark said.

"I doubt it. The idiots waded through the river." Jon said.

"Why does that matter?" Eddard asked.

"The bowstrings. Bows are strung with sinew, and those strings must be taut. If a string absorbs water, it loses tension. And a wet bow does not shoot well. Beeswax might reduce that problem, but the Mountain's men are unlikely to be well equipped. Let them get closer, and they will die like flies." Jon said.

* * *

The Mountain's men were prepared for quick raids. They were not skilled at siegecraft. They had no ladders, rope, or any means to fill the ditch. It took a long time for the Mountain to pass the first trench, and even longer to pass the second. They dragged and carried their horses down and through the two ditches. After the sun had risen high in the sky, the Westermen formed a line of horses, with archers and spearmen. With a loud roar, the Mountain charged, the entire cavalry of five hundred behind him.

The first screams were the sounds of horses dying. The Mountain's brown destrier stepped on a stake sunk into a pit, a lily with iron thorns. The horse went down, the front right leg broken and Gregor Clegane fell to the ground. His men fared worse. Their horses stepped on nails and spikes, and many men were flung from the saddle, into other traps. As the first line crashed, the second line smashed into the injured horses, falling into yet more rows of iron hooks and fire sharpened wood. Scores of horses were crippled and the screams of men joined their steeds. Dozens of the Mountain's Men were skewered on iron hooks, and wooden stakes. Hundreds of others were dazed and shocked by their failed charge.

Gregor Clegane stood up and grabbed his six foot long sword with both hands. With one brutal stroke, Clegane sliced off the head of his wounded horse. The enraged Mountain hacked to death seven other steeds before screaming at his men. Clegane's archers shot arrows at the palisade but they fell well short. Again, Clegane went berserk, and swung the massive blade through several bows. The fearful men around him scattered, until order was restored. The men formed a ragtag line and marched toward the wall, still four hundred feet away.

"Snow, should we do anything?" Edmure Tully asked. Jon's captains were assembled at the center, ready to spread out along the battlements.

"We watch, Ser. Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake." Jon replied.

And the enemy suffered. They fell into pits. They stepped on hooks and stakes. They were impaled on tree trunks. Even injured, the men were forced to continue, lest they be trampled by their companions. Finally the enemy had reached the final ditch a hundred feet away and flooded ten feet deep with water. Less than half of the Mountain's Men were still standing. As they began to swim across, Jon raised his hand.

"They are too far still for spears. But if you can shoot a volley of arrows at a massed group or pick them off as they emerge from the water, do so." Jon took out a crossbow, wound the winch, and shot. The bolt pierced a man's eye and the barbed point passed through the back of the skull. Dozens of men fell as arrows rained down from the wall.

Even as they died, the Mountain forced his men forward. Incredibly, Clegane managed to get fifty men near the walls. Half a dozen arrows protruded from his thick plate armor.

"They say the Mountain wears mail under the plate armor, and boiled leather under the mail." Edmure said.

Jon could kill the Mountain with one shot of the carroballista. At point blank range, the shaft would rip through Clegane's body. Jon wanted that very much but he needed to save the surprise for the true attack. Clegane was merely a dog. The carroballista was for the lions.

The Mountain's men made ready to climb the walls. Smalljon Umber and Eddard Karstark grinned as they climbed down to the ground on the back of the palisade. The timber walls were stout but holes were set at chest level, too small for a sword but wide enough for a spear trip. As the Mountain's men climbed, a dozen spears sprouted from the walls, pushing through chests, necks and bellies. From above, more long spears thrust down, aiming for heads and shoulders. At last, as Clegane realized his failure, he ordered a retreat. More men fell as the North and Rivermen fired arrows into the back of their heads. Dying and injured men were left behind, too weak to make the trek back. The Mountain ran like a dog with his tail between the legs.

Hundreds of bodies, perhaps two thirds of the initial force, and hundreds more horses lay dead or dying. Crows and common ravens descended on the battleground, first a few, but then a dozen, and then the air swarmed with black birds, pecking at eyeballs and ripping at soft flesh with sharp beaks. Carrion birds feasted on the Mountain's men.

* * *

The raven that was Jon Snow flew two mornings later over the Red Fork, ignoring thousands of black birds that clustered between the palisade and the river. It passed Northmen and Riverlanders setting more traps, sharpening weapons, and boasting of their fighting prowess. It passed scouts choking on the smell of dead and roasting bodies, and smallfolk cutting trees under the eyes of soldiers. It landed at the edge of the war camp, amidst a sea of red tents.

There were dozens and dozens of banners, representing the might of the Westerlands, testifying to the respect that Tywin Lannister demanded from his liege lords. Jon passed boars, badgers, beetles, a green arrow and a red ox, crossed halberds, crossed spears, a treecat, and many many more. Besides the gold lion, two sigils stood out - an orange burning tree of House Marbrand, and a pile of gold on a sky blue field of House Lefford. Their prominence meant that their prestige had not been damaged by the taking of the Tooth or that Lord Tywin charged them to find redemption on the battlefield.

A sea of soldiers parted to allow a tall slender man to ride forth, flanked by the Mountain and a dozen other highborn commanders. Tywin Lannister wore impressive but gaudy armor - a full suit of steel plate enameled in crimson and highlighted in gold. The golden sunbursts on the armor matched his heavy cloth of gold greatcloak. His great helm, a roaring lion with ruby eyes, rested on the right side of his saddle and his gold pommeled long sword was buckled to his left. Even his warhorse wore gilded red armor. The raven had spent enough time staring the Old Lion. Lord Lannister was travelling North to the Red Fork. The knights would follow, and then the archers and spearmen.

The raven flew North again, until the muddy waters of the Red Fork were in sight. Then he cut the connection, and stirred again in his makeshift office in the central watchtower. Ghost licked his hand, and Jon wondered the limits of warging. Stannis's witch conjured a shadow to slay Renly. Could a raven kill Lord Tywin? Not likely, but Jon thought about the stories of Brynden Rivers, that he could order packs of gaunt wolves to hunt down his enemies and carrion crows to whisper secrets in his ear. Bloodraven was a better warg than me, Jon thought.

He stepped forth onto the palisade, to look over the field of battle. Each morning, he walked the two miles of the wall, to greet the men and inspect any new construction.

"Maester, why haven't they attacked yet?" The grumbling came from the Smalljon. Much like his father, the Smalljon was a warrior and a drinker. Last night, after being relieved from patrol duty, the heir to House Umber had declared after many cups of ale that he would be the first to shove his sword up Tywin Lannister's bunghole, assuming his father had not done so first.

"They are preparing. The Lannister army will not attack blindly. They will bring ladders, battering rams, siege equipment. But it will be hard to bring them over the river, and then through the trenches and fields." Jon said.

"Are we certain they will still attack? The Mountain ran like a little dog." Edmure Tully said.

"Lord Tywin has dedicated his life to the Lannister name. He did not want to leave Harrenhal but the loss of the Tooth forced him to return West. He may not want to attack these walls but he would look a coward if he did not. And where would go? Back to Harrenhal?" Jon said.

"Harrenhal is a mighty castle. It would be impossible to take, if well defended." Edmure said.

"Every house that has held Harrenhal have suffered extinction, and rather quickly. If Tywin Lannister wishes, he is welcome to a cursed castle." Jon said.

"They say that Harren the Black cursed the castle when he died. And that he still haunts the halls and any who looks upon his ghost, bursts into flame." Hoster Blackwood said.

"Then it is too bad that Lord Tywin did not meet Black Harren." Jon japed. He doubted that Harren had anything on his mind besides being burned alive by Balerion. "We have finished the watchtowers. We have cut all the timber nearby, for traps, arrows and bolts for the ballistae. We have burnt the bodies of the dead to clear the trenches. Now we wait."

* * *

Two days later, the sky was grey and threatening when Jon woke from dreams of blood and fire to the sound of ravens. Hoster Blackwood kept half a dozen ravens in iron cages, but there were dozens and dozens of black birds in his chamber, croaking a deep rasping call, staring at him with hard beady eyes. He stepped outside, and saw ravens perched on every watchtower like dark messengers. The ravens had left the field, and abandoned the bodies below. That could mean only one thing. They expected fresh meat today.

Jon walked out, ravens flying around him, Ghost at his side. The night patrols saluted him, and he dispatched messengers to wake up the other commanders. He stepped forward to peer over the edge of the wall. The Lannister army amassed on the south shore, and he could see siege towers with battering rams, and platforms for catapults. Jon summoned Chett and his crew and instructed them to prepare and bring the ballistae up to the wall.

Squires prepared a meal of warm bread, cheese, and watered down ale. Jon ordered fresh barrels of dried beef and smoked fish to be opened, insisting that all eat and drink to keep up their strength. There were other fish besides trout, and Jon munched on smoked herring and anchovies packed in oil and salt. In minutes, the entire wall bustled with activity as men prepared for the battle. Rivermen prayed to the Warrior and the Father for good fortune in battle. The Northmen were silent, for the old gods only had power where a heart tree could see. Jon busied himself with his machines.

The thirty carroballista were at the front of the wall, hidden by battlements. Each machine had a hundred and fifty bolts to shoot. Further back, four trebuchet and six catapults stood, armed with heavy stones. Jon had concentrated all his siege machines near the center, with the Winter Town crew ready to fire a barrage of 10 bolts at a time.

"What in the Seven Hells are you doing?" The Smalljon asked.

Eddard Karstark had washed his long hair, taking extra care with the two braids that hung over his ears. He trimmed wisps of beard from his neck with a pair of scissors. "If I die, I want to look my best when I meet my ancestors at Karhold."

The Smalljon roared in laughter and then waved his massive sword in a circle. "The only thing they will care about is how much blood is on your axe and how many men you killed."

"Not everyone is as ugly as you, Umber." Eddard replied, as he returned to his grooming.

"Are they always like that?" Gerion whispered to Jon.

"Like what?"Jon asked.

"Savages ready to fight and die?" Gerry said.

Jon chuckled. "We are Northmen. Smalljon and Eddard are just passing time. It is hard to wait before battle." It had been five days since the Mountain's raid failed spectacularly. The Northmen were eager to fight.

Thousands and thousands of Westermen began to wade across the river. Archers carried their bows and arrows above their heads, protecting them from the water, and spearman marched in formation. Teams of horses and mules pulled wagons across. Jon could see the burning orange tree of House Marbrand and the brindled black and white board of House Crakehall at the front, although there were many banners. The Lannister army stopped at the first ditch, two hundred feet from the river. The infantry struggled to cross with difficulty, but the highborn had a different plan. At the center of the ditch, men unloaded wooden planks, twenty feet long, to make a bridge sturdy and wide enough for ten horses to pass. After a hundred knights rode over, teams of drays, plow horses trained for heavy tasks, began to pull the siege towers.

"Those must be twenty feet high. They dwarf our wall." Edmure Tully said. Indeed, the Lannister siege towers were higher than the Northern watchtowers.

"Then we will fight in the shade." Brynden Blackwood declared. The Smalljon gave the Blackwood heir a hearty slap on the back, and roared his approval.

"We are not doing that either." Jon said.

The Lannister army made it to the second ditch, four hundred feet from the wall. Hundreds of soldiers were on the sides, but they waited for the cavalry to cross at the center. The Westermen had again built a bridge, and eight horses in two rows pulled the first tower.

Jon signalled to Chett, and the boy raised his arms to alert the other crew members. "Five for the horses. Five for the tower. Fire."

Ten six foot long spears boomed from the palisade, zooming through the air with deadly accuracy. The first bolt exploded through the head of the lead plow horse, and killed the horse behind. Jon's eyes were not on dying and wounded horses but the siege machine. Two of the bolts stuck harmlessly in wooden base of the tower. One had knocked the catapult placed in the tower into the bridge. But two other bolts smashed into the right support beams. If the frame had been bound in iron or steel, that would not have mattered. But the tower, poorly constructed with wood, listed to the side, and then teetered over. With a mighty crash, the siege tower fell, crushing soldiers and horses behind.

"Maester Snow, should we aim at the other siege towers?" Chett yelled.

Jon shook his head, "Wait until the towers are closer. But kill the teams of plow horses. They are an easy target. And shoot as well at the knights, particularly near banners."

"You heard the maester." Chett yelled. "Fire again."

Another third of the carroballistas fired, and again horses screamed as they died. One bolt pierced a knight in plate armor and sank half its length into a nearby wagon, so the man was skewered and hung like a corpse on a gibbet. Then the last third of the carroballistas fired, and knights fell as their horses died or ran for cover. The mighty war destriers were trained for the chaos of the battlefield but the barrage of deadly bolts was overwhelming. Horses who had not crossed the bridge reared, throwing off riders. Other horses galloped forward into the field of traps, triggering pits and spikes with predictable results.

The ballistas fired again and again, ten at a time, inflicting horrendous damage. The dead piled up - horses killed, or knights crushed or impaled on bolts. The discarded banners of the Western houses lay trampled on the muddy ground. The North destroyed a second siege tower as it attempted to cross.

"Maester, what about them?" Smalljon pointed at the crews behind the trebuchets and catapults.

"We save those for when the infantry mass for a charge. We want to kill men when they group together" Jon said. "But until then, keep firing."

On the wall, only the sound of ballista fire could be heard as the crews of boys aimed with care and then shot. On the fields, men and horses died in droves. The brutality of the Northern attack shocked the Lannister forces but the battle had only begun. The artillery had killed hundreds, but there were still thousands of soldiers left. There were many more men to be killed.

* * *

A few miles to the South and West, Robb Stark held a conference of his commanders. He had four sets of forces. Spears and infantry holding the River Road, a mixed group of knights, archers and infantry in the center, light cavalry and Rivermen outriders, and a hard core of Northmen knights and elite infantry. The men on the River Road, nearest to the Trident, reported that the Lannister army crossed the Red Fork that morning.

"How many men have passed the ford? And have we spotted Lord Tywin?" Robb asked.

"Six or Seven Thousand, Lord Stark - we saw Marbrand and Crakehall banners leading the way. Many knights and wagons with siege equipment crossed." Harrion said.

"Lord Tywin has always favored commanding a strong reserve. He did so in the War of the NinePenny Kings. I would guess he has over four thousand. And many will be his best fighters. He will use them to break our lines, and attack our flanks." Lord Mallister said.

"Lord Lefford, Lord Lydden, and Lord Serrett command the troops on our side of the Trident near the River Road. They have pikemen, spearmen, archers, axemen, and swordsmen mixed with some cavalry. Most of the knights have gone to attack your brother, but the largest set of forces guard the passage. Perhaps ten thousand men." Wylis Manderly said.

"And where are the wagons of food and supplies?" Robb asked.

"They were in the center, between Lord Tywin and the troops at the Red Fork. Our scouts believe it to be thinly guarded." the Blackfish said.

"Lord Stark, near the wagons, my men have spotted a small force of two thousand freeriders, sellswords and green recruits fresh to war. They are all mounted, but with a strong attack, we may be able to sweep them away." Roose Bolton said.

"Aye, it appears to be an easy target. There are a few thousand infantry men lagging behind and guarding the rear. But they would be slow to rescue the wagons. Tywin's knights have rushed north to do battle with your brother." Rickard Karstark said.

The suggestion was clear. They could crush the green boys, and force Lord Tywin and his commanders to expend men near the Trident to return South and defend the wagons. But how did Lord Bolton know that these were green recruits? And if they were fresh from the farms, city and docks, then why would they be mounted on horses? If he routed that force, then Lord Serrett could wheel back and flank the Northern army. Robb was certain his men could fight that off, but that was only one set of forces. If Lord Tywin were to launch his reserve from the east, they would be encircled. Robb's eyes narrowed. That small force was mounted, so that the Northerners would give chase. He wondered who knew about this trap.

"Lord Bolton, would you care to lead the attack on the supply train?" Robb asked.

The Leech Lord's face betrayed no emotions. "Of course, Lord Stark."

"I can only give you a thousand men. Your infantry will be needed on the road." Robb said.

"The Lannisters will outnumber my forces two to one." Roose Bolton said.

"We will all be outnumbered. I want you to attack and then retreat. Tywin Lannister's army is a snake headed north. We will attack, and then try to extend his line and draw it toward us. Lord Bolton, you will attack the supply wagons. Torrhen Karstark, command the forces on the River Road. Attack and goad Lord Serrett, Lydden and Leffort to break ranks and pursue. Lord Blackwood, take the center forces and do the same. Do not commit to pitched battle but have them follow you. Martyn Rivers, do the same with the outriders." Robb said.

"The Lannisters may chase but it won't be too far." The Blackfish warned. "Lord Tywin's commanders are too disciplined."

"We don't need much. Just extend their line." Robb dismissed his commanders to their orders. His guard remained. The Blackfish also kept Lord Mallister, the Pipers, the Vances and the Brackens. He also called back Harrion Karstark and Wylis Manderly.

The Karstark heir fumed, and Robb arched his eyebrow in response. "Why are we not fighting?" Harrion said. "Northmen have always attacked, not hidden from battle. My brother is with your brother, defending the Red Fork against a horde of Lannisters. As Heir of Karhold, I wish to do my part for the honor of the North."

Robb waited a beat, until he was sure that Roose Bolton was too far away to hear. He addressed his men and Dacey Mormont. "I held you back because you are my strongest, most experienced fighters, the best of the Northern and the Rivermen army. And I need you for the most important attack."

"So you do have a plan?" Dacey Mormont said.

"Our center and left will be weak. Jon is also outnumbered to the North. But the Blackfish and I will have six thousand men. Let their army chase and attempt to flank our other forces. We will attack the reserve directly. We will kill the Old Lion and win the war." Robb said.

* * *

North of the Red Fork, the battle continued. The bulk of the Lannister army and most of the commanders were in the center, attempting to move wagons and mounted knights over the trench. Enough spearmen and archers had crossed, that Jon had sent Edmure Tully and Brynden Blackwood west and Smalljon and Eddard Karstark east on the wall, to fend off invaders with ladders, battering rams, and siege hooks.

Jon raised his hand. The first line ceased firing. And then slowly the second line shot less and less. Finally, when they finished, the third line began to take more time to reload, until it appeared that all the ballista had run out of bolts. A ragged cheer broke out on the field below, and the mounted cavalry began to form lines. Under withering arrow fire, foot soldiers had attempted to disarm traps, fill pits, and clear a path for the knights. The intrepid men, armed with crude shovels and pickaxes, had made it as far as the final water filled trench, where with a row of shields over their heads, managed to build a makeshift bridge. Almost all of them were dead or gravely injured but Jon applauded their courage.

Time passed slowly as the forces arranged themselves on the field below. Jon wondered how the Westermen planned to navigate the final thirty feet to the wall. Even after passing the moat, there were more traps and the final rampart. Perhaps the knights expected the force of the charge to be so great that the North would abandon the wall. No one would never find out. As the horses began to gain speed, Jon raised his hand to signal the crews of all the siege weapons - trebuchets, catapults and ballista. Each ballista still had at least fifty bolts left, and the trebuchets and catapults had yet to be used. Jon had paused artillery fire to conserve ammunition and draw out a bold advance.

The Westermen charged, and Jon's Winter Town boys opened fire. Barbed bolts ripped through the Lannister lines, killing men and horses with ease. Trebuchets and catapults unleashed giant stones crushing several knights at once. And the stones and bodies of the dead remained on the field, blocking the advance of other knights, a deadlier version of the Whispering Wood. There, Jon used an ironwood lever to launch a mishmosh of boards, nails and spikes to pen in the cavalry. At the Red Fork, Jon had more than Catapult Jon Umber and the Forresters. The battery of ballistas, trebuchets and catapults fired again and again, and a cloud of dust and blood swirled over the field. Severed arms, helmets, lances, swords and even entire horses were hurled into the air as charging knights collided. The disastrous charge was repulsed with enormous casualties and a cheer went up on the walls.

"Maester, maester." Gerion cried and pointed to the west.

Jon turned and saw two burning watchtowers. The Westermen could not have carried the wall so easily, and he doubted a few fire arrows could ignite such a blaze. He extended his right arm to a raven, and the bird flew to the watchtower. Jon warged and saw sour faced thugs led by a tall man with steel greaves. A pack of nine vicious hunting hounds snarled as they dragged down Tully soldiers to be killed with axes and long knives. And in the midst of the fighting, there was an ugly young man, big boned with pink blotchy skin, a wet lipped crazed smile, and small colorless eyes, like dirty water frozen in winter. Jon realized who those eyes belonged to. Ramsay was no Dustin. He was Roose Bolton's son.

* * *

Robb Stark stared across the field, looking keenly at the nearby hill with a spyglass. He was mounted and surrounded by his honor guard. Lady Catelyn was there as well, with her sworn sword, Brienne. He could see the Lannister reserve, half mounted and half foot. It was a huge force, five thousand strong. Like Robb, Lord Tywin was on the high ground, watching the unfolding battle and ready to commit his force when and where they were needed most.

Battle was too strong a word for the current skirmishes on the Southern side. Near the river, Torrhen Stark had arranged a wall of pikes to fend off light cavalry. Lord Blackwood had done his job well, and bands of Westermen chased west. The Leech Lord and Martyn Rivers had moved slowly, and seemed satisfied to taunt the enemy, rather than fight. Even miles away, Robb knew the only furious fighting was on the northern side of the Trident.

"We need to get Tywin Lannister off his arse." Robb declared. He did not want to charge uphill to attack a strong reserve.

"That old lion will not move without a reason." Brynden Tully said.

"Then we shall give him one, Ser." Robb called his best warriors - Harrion Karstark, Greatjon Umber, Dacey Mormont, the Manderly brothers. "We will ride for Lord Bolton's position. We will appear to be headed for the sellswords guarding the supply wagons, but then we turn and charge Tywin's reserve."

"But do you think they will rush down to fight? They may wish to keep the high ground." Ser Stevron Frey said. The other Rivermen nodded, wary of Lannister trickery.

"Five thousand men cannot sit on top of a hill forever. Ser Brynden will take the strongest fighters in the Riverlands and as we charge from the West, the Blackfish will attack from the South. If Lannister bannermen see the Stark banner crossing the field, they will be tempted to engage the flank. If they meet us downhill, we will battle and the Blackfish will hit them in the rear. If they stay uphill, we attack from many sides, and pick off any stragglers." Robb said. Either way, he hoped to close with Lord Tywin.

"Lord Stark, there is one problem. We can only cover the West and South. What if the Lord Tywin goes North to join his army?" Jason Mallister asked.

He could retreat East as well, Robb thought. If he did though, and his bannermen saw the Lannister banner in flight, the Westermen had lost. The North would encircle Lord Lydden, Serrett and Lefford, and smash them against Jon's wall. "I offer myself as a target. That will lure the lion down." Robb said. He reached over to rub a bored Grey Wind.

"We will hide behind that grassy knoll. Then when you ride to Lord Bolton, the reserve will not see us before it is too late." Ser Brynden said. He rode off, Lord Mallister, Marq Piper, Karyl Vance, Stevron Frey and Jonos Bracken following with their best men.

"Stick a lance up Tywin's arse for me." The Greatjon yelled.

* * *

Robb's trap worked better than he expected. As he rode with the Greatjon, and Harrion, the mounted soldiers in the reserve charged down to attack. Before they could clash, the Blackfish burst out of a copse of trees and smashed into the horses from the side. By then, the Northern fighters turned to the East and continued the assault with overwhelming numbers. Four thousand Northerners and two thousand Rivermen crushed the encircled cavalry. Less than a thousand managed to retreat from the slaughter, fleeing North and East. That left Lord Tywin with a few hundred cavalry and twenty five hundred infantry.

The combined forces of the North and the Rivermen turned to the hill. The Old Lion stayed on the high ground, and Lannister men locked their kite shields together to form a wall, ten men deep, stretching over five hundred feet. Behind the wall of shields and spears, Tywin had placed his fiercest fighters as shock troops. As his men began to form lines, Robb and Grey Wind galloped hard in front of his leaders.

"Hold. We cannot attack directly. Rushing into a wall of spears is for fools." Robb shouted.

"But Lord Stark! Tywin Lannister is less than a thousand feet away. And that monster, the Mountain, is with him." Jonos Bracken said.

"You will follow orders." Robb said bluntly. "They are up hill. Some of our horse will charge, battle, and then pretend to retreat. Their men will pursue, and we will destroy them on the open field. But, we must stay disciplined. The retreat has to be convincing, but not real. If men charge too far forward or panic, they will be slaughtered."

"I will lead that attack, Lord Stark." Brynden Tully said.

Robb accepted the offer. The Blackfish was a seasoned veteran and precise in his movements. Men would follow his orders in the heat of battle. The problem was that this tactic took time to execute, and on every other front, the Northern army was outnumbered. Robb hoped that his forces could hold.

* * *

Jon dispatched Chett to inform the Smalljon and Eddard. The burning watchtowers had attracted attention and several hundred Lannister spearmen and archers moved to exploit the weakness. They would be delayed by traps, the rampart and scaling the wall but without defenders, the fortifications would soon fall. As he rushed West, Jon called on his men by name, urging them to lend troops. Outside the walls, the enemy soldiers made a desperate foray throwing ladders and grappling hooks fixed to long poles. Some men even built crude ramps out of earth to allow them to get closer. Tully men poured in from the other side as well, and Jon urged them to concentrate on defending the walls.

The battle turned desperate. If the defenders could hold their ground, the Westermen were sunk. But if sufficient numbers got past the wall, the greater numbers and better armor of the Westermen would win. For every assailant killed or pushed as they climbed a ladder or scaled the wall, another two came behind. The rampart began to fill with bodies. Soon, the palisade would fall. On the wall, men dropped spears and bows for their swords.

Ghost raced ahead and jumped into the fray with the hunting hounds. He snapped one bitch's neck in half and with his strong forelegs, broke the back of another. The hounds snarled, clawed and bit but Ghost was too fast. He shot one man in the face, and threw the crossbow at another. Jon drew his bastard sword, killed the second man, and continued to Ramsay.

Steelshanks intercepted him. The Bolton man wore a mail shirt but had strong steel over his long arms and legs. Jon blocked the vicious cut of the two handed blade. He sliced back but Steelshanks turned and the bastard sword only glanced off the heavy vambraces. Steelshanks struck again and again. The Bolton man had no protection for his head and neck, and with a hard thrust, Jon could cut through the mail shirt. But Jon, forced on the defensive, could not reach those vulnerable areas. The longer the fight continued, the more the strength and reach of the Bolton man mattered. Jon spotted a broken quarrel on the floor. He went down to his knees, switching the sword to his left hand. Steelshanks moved in for the kill, and Jon grabbed the bolt with his right and thrust the head hard through the mail links. Three inches of the quarrel penetrated the padded gambeson and Jon twisted. As the wounded Steelshanks fell, Jon stabbed his throat with the heavy tip of the bastard sword.

When he stood up, a quarrel slammed into his breastplate. At two hundred feet, the shot would have glanced off the heavy plate but Ramsey was firing from point blank. Jon went down again to his knees and another bolt hit the left pauldron. The bolt head penetrated the shoulder but the heavy metal dome absorbed some of the force. Ramsay cocked his crossbow once again.

"Ah, the great Jon Snow. The most feared man in the North. I will flay your skin for a cloak. Or perhaps I will use your wolf. His fur would be warmer. " Ramsay chuckled.

"Did the Lannisters put you up to this? Or was it your father?" Jon said, trying to buy time as he groped for Steelshank's dagger.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Ramsay lifted the crossbow and fired past Jon's shoulder. The Smalljon Umber and Eddard Karstark had arrived but they ducked as the quarrel hit the wood beams. To the West, Jon could hear Edmure Tully rallying his men. An injured Ghost fought the remaining hounds.

"Nothing you do matters now." Ramsay said, pointing to the bottom of the palisade. Two men with broken teeth and dirty faces were chopping a hole with axes. Soon, the Lannister men would burst through the fallen wall. "Your dire wolf killed some of my girls but I can always replace bitches and boys." The Bastard of Dreadfort smiled and nocked his crossbow. Then a howl, long and harrowing, came from the North.

* * *

Nymeria could smell the dying horses from miles away. Her pack was hungry but even a dire wolf feared hundreds of men with sharp sticks and metal claws. She thought of going North. North was the summer snows, the warmth of a little girl's bed, and the great forest where her brothers hunted when they were no longer pups. But then she sniffed the air and caught the scent. Her brother was close - somewhere over the water.

Nymeria growled and her pack whined and then stood to follow. She dived into a muddy river, swimming swiftly to the other side. They ran through rills and brooks and turned south and west. The she-wolf saw a wooden wall, flames, and a dire wolf with thick white fur, red eyes and a bushy tail - her brother fighting with three ugly hounds. The bodies of six other dogs lay dead on the ground. Nymeria howled, and her pack howled with her.

The she-wolf sprang at the closest brown bitch, and tore off a front leg cleanly at the shoulder. Ghost rushed and his jaw clamped on the neck of another hound. Ramsay turned his crossbow to the dire wolves but Jon jumped up and grabbed him by the waist. As Jon slammed him to the ground, Ramsay fired, the bolt ripping through the armor on Jon's right arm. The many folds of steel riveted together to form the vambrace and gauntlet absorbed some force but the bolt head still lodged into his upper arm. Jon grabbed the unloaded crossbow and bludgeoned the face into blood and broken bones. He locked his steel gauntlets about the meaty neck and heard a loud and satisfying snap as Ramsey died. Jon slammed a dagger through the right eye to be certain.

Behind him, the dire wolves had finished the last hound. Jon stood up to see Smalljon Umber, Eddard Karstark, Edmure Tully, and Brynden Blackwood holding off a swarm of Lannister swordsmen. The Bolton men had weakened the fortifications and the wall was about to fall. Dozens of Westermen surged up into the palisade.

Ghost slinked to his side, wounded but still determined. A fierce dire wolf with golden eyes accompanied him, and she boldly rubbed her muzzle against his injured arm. A hundred of her little grey cousins prowled behind. Wolves - he did not have enough men but he had wolves, and they wanted to be led. Jon turned to them, and howled. Nymeria sang, and wolf after wolf joined the chorus, as the pack bonded and prepared to pounce. Then Ghost, the wolf with no voice, led the attack, hundreds of fierce beasts snarling and biting at Lannister men. The wolfpack killed without mercy.

Jon reached out for the ravens. There were hundreds of ravens, and thousands of crows, carrion birds looking to feast. Jon pushed his mind and he soared into the air, his mind seeing not from one set of eyes, but dozens, then hundreds, then even more. He could see from one thousand eyes, crows, ravens, a white dire wolf, even his own. Some Westermen still attempted to scale the walls, pressing the exhausted defenders hard. Many lay dead or dying on the field. Jon reached out and a vast cloud of birds abandoned their roosts. They swooped down, attacking with talons and beaks, pecking at eyes and fingers. A giant conspiracy of ravens and crows flew from the palisade, and turned the sky black, and day into night.

"Maester, Maester." Chett and his crew had driven several teams of horses pulling the ballistas to this part of the wall. A strange silence fell over the Wintertown boys.

"What is wrong?" Jon asked.

"Your eyes, milord. They are milk white." Gerion said.

"Enough. Bring the carroballista to me." Jon said. The crews maneuvered the weapons into place. With the Lannisters packed so close outside, each bolt killed multiple men, often pinning three or four men together in their death throes. The area near the wall was cleared.

Jon looked over the field, as the Smalljon, Karstark and the rivermen gasped for breath. All over the battleground, Westermen broke and fled, spooked by dark wings and the howl of wolves. Battle standards were abandoned as the enemy turned tail and fled for the river in panic.

"Snow, have we won?" The Smalljon asked.

Jon grabbed a bloody bastard sword. "Not yet, Umber. We have more men to kill."

Bodies were piled next to the wooden logs that the Westermen had used to cross the rampart. Jon walked across, with Ghost and Nymeria at his side. The traps between the wall and water filled trench had been triggered and the path that the soldiers used to assault the palisade could be easily followed. The air was heavy and foul with the smell of death. The soldiers and horses slain had already begun to rot, and there were still pockets of the injured and dying left on the Northern side of the Red Fork. The Lannisters had failed to breach the wall.

Jon motioned to the defenders on the wall. His exhausted troops, perhaps fifteen hundred men, came down to the field. The wolf pack followed Ghost and Nymeria, and the dire wolves followed Jon as he marched to the river, accompanied by swarms of ravens and crows. The wolves killed the wounded Lannister men and horses. The Winter Town boys carefully drove the ballistas down over makeshift bridges and trails marked in blood until they reached the Trident. They had few bolts left, but that was enough.

The river was five hundred feet wide. The fighting was still fierce on the southern side near the river. Jon could make out three standards - a white badger, a golden pile, and a blue peacock. House Lydden, House Lefford and House Serrett were still standing, fighting on the Riverroad.

The Wintertown boys opened fire again, aiming at knights near those banners. Men and horses were impaled on barbed bolts, and the lines began to break. Jon marched over the Trident, wolves and ravens at his side, his men following. The howl of wolves and the croaks of the ravens filled the air, as Lannister men fled from the Bloody Wolf and his sorcerous minions.

* * *

Robb Stark paused as he heard the howling of a hundred wolves. Grey Wind howled back, and Robb saw flocks of black birds, like a portent of death, pass over the Red Fork. With two feigned retreats, his men had broken the shieldwall, but Lord Tywin and his guards were nowhere to be found. The sellswords and green boys had long vanished, leaving hundreds of unguarded supply wagons.

"Where is Tywin?" Robb asked.

The Blackfish shook his head. "He has fled South and East. The Rivermen almost had him but the Mountain and several knights fended off Lord Bracken and Lord Mallister."

The Old Lion had abandoned the field. When that news spread, the Westermen army would break. Robb called to his battle guard. "Lord Tywin has fled."

"What in the Seven Hells is that?" Greatjon Umber said, pointing to the dark wings in the sky.

Robb was certain this was his brother's doing. "Victory. We ride North. My brother is the anvil. We are the hammer. Let us break the Lannister army."

Robb and the Blackfish combined forces, and rode north to the river. There was little resistance left as enemy soldiers surrendered or ran. Grey Wind saw his brother first, and ran to the injured Ghost and a dire wolf with grey fur and golden eyes.

Jon Snow was at the head of his men, the shafts of three quarrels protruding through the armor at his chest, shoulder, and right arm. He was drenched in blood - helmet, armor, and sword. With wolves and ravens at his side, his brother looked like an old God of the North, ready to accept a sacrifice of blood and entrails under a weirwood tree. He smiled and raised his injured arm in salute. "Lord Stark, Victory is yours."

**Author's Notes**

People did use caltrops in the ancient and middle ages, but their effectiveness varied. Against war chariots, that needed a level surface, they were quite effective - to the point that nobody used war chariots anymore. But the mobility of horses is an important factor. Good riders got around caltrops. Further they can trap the person using them. There were battles where caltrops were released and backfired.

In a Feast for Crows, Ser Daven Lannister offers to forage for Tywin. Lord Lannister refuses, saying that some tasks are fit for lions, but foraging is best left for goats (Vargo Hoat) and dogs (Gregor Clegane).

_"A lord may love the men he commands but he cannot be a friend to them. One day, he may need to sit in judgment on them, or send them forth to die._" I believe that is a quote from Jon Snow in A Dance With Dragons. He is thinking of Ned Stark's words.

Nymeria slaughters four Bloody Mummers who are hunting for Arya after she flees is Arya's first POV chapter in A Storm of Swords. The wolf pack is going north on the same trail that Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie take.

The model for Jon's fortification is the Battle of Alesia. It is not the full battle - Caesar builds double walls and fights on two fronts. But the quality of engineering from Alesia is unmatched in ancient warfare. The extent sounds crazy but in Alesia, Caesar built two sets of circular walls, one 11 miles long, the other 14 miles. He built over 200 watchtowers and his multiples ditches surrounded the entire city. He had the larger army - 50,000 Romans - but he built everything in three weeks, and he built deeper and wider. He was fighting four times his number. Jon's wall is two miles, and the flanks guarded by the rivers. Using the same proportions as the Romans, Jon would build a watchtower every 80 meters, or 40 towers. The Battle of Alesia is an extraordinary display of martial superiority. It is a tribute to the training, discipline, and technological edge of the Romans and Caesar's brilliance.

There are debates about how far arrows can shoot but the archers at the Battle of Crecy could shoot 300 yards. In comparison, the range of the Roman ballista was 500 yards, although it would be used at closer distances for greater accuracy. Note that the North is shooting from an elevated platform which would extend their range and shorten the enemy's.

V-cross section ditches more than a meter deep have been long recognized as especially defensive Their surface width, depth, steep sides, and narrow bottoms make them very difficult for attackers to negotiate. Romans had a special name for them, fossae fastigata (sloped or pointed ditches). The ditches at Alesia were 15 to 20 feet deep, and they extended much further than two miles. Caesar's army also built on both sides in a matter of weeks.

In the Battle of Crecy, the French hired Genoa crossbowmen. Their bowstrings got wet and they were completely annihilated by the English longbowmen who kept their strings dry, Wet strings reduce both range and accuracy.

_"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake"_ is a quote from Napoleon Bonaparte. While he was shit at naval combat and got burned in Russia, Napoleon is widely regarded as a great general.

As for the missile weapons, there is range and there is range. An English bowman might be able to shoot 400 yards! But he probably couldn't kill much from that distance. The ballista could shoot 500 yards but Jon waits until the enemy is very close (under 150 yards) and then fires. This is the equivalent of the shoot when you see the whites of their eyes.

Some writers claim a Roman ballista were shot 1000 times a day in battle. If you assume no night shooting, that implies the crew fired 1 bolt a minute for 16 hours. That is a lot of ammo.

_"Then we will fight in the shade."_ Nod to the 300, Sparta fighting Persia.

Robb's initial strategy is from the Battle of Leuctra. In 400 BC, the Spartan phalanx was the undisputed champion. Normally a phalanx is eight to twelve men deep, and the strongest fighters on the right. This is because due to the nature of shields covering the left, the phalanx drifted leftward in battle. At Leuctra, Epaminondas, the Theban general, didn't have enough soldiers, so he made his line thin but on his left, stacked his best infantry fifty men deep. Thus, the elite warriors of Thebes faced the Spartan king and his guard directly. Epaminondas gambled he would destroy the Spartan right before the enemy could flank and kill his weaker men. [He won.] That is Robb's strategy as well, to attack Tywin's reserve directly. With enough time, the Lannister forces could beat his men, but Robb thinks the others can hold out for long enough for him to win.

When Robb meets Tywin uphill, he shifts tactics. In the Battle of Hastings, William the Conqueror has mostly cavalry while the English, mostly infantry, are uphill in a shield wall. The Normans feigned retreats to break the cohesion of the shield wall. So it actually did work in history. But it was by no means easy. Historians believe William the Conqueror executed the feigned retreat twice, luring the English from the high ground. The most famous practitioner is Genghis Khan, but that makes sense given Mongol horses and archery.

One tidbit - only the last 100 yards would be a full speed charge. So when Bracken says he is less than 1000 feet away, what he means is that we only need to trot for a bit, and then we can hit the wall. Jonos is chomping at the bit to attack the Mountain.

People will argue that Jon should have realized Ramsay was a Bolton earlier. Maybe, but in an army of thousands with the help of Roose, Ramsay can hide easily. He did it in the North many times, fooling Theon, Roderick Cassell, and many others. I thought about Nymeria killing Ramsay but in the end, it is better if Jon (the other Northern bastard) does it himself.

Jon's control of the wolves and ravens is an emergency thing - he goes nova in an adrenalin rush. He can't possibly sustain 1000 eyes without going batshit insane. Ballistas in the open field also would not normally work. Cavalry would swarm and kill the crews. It happens here, only because the battle is almost won and the artillery is delivering a knockout blow.

The hammer and anvil comment is from the Battle of Redgrass Field. There, Prince Baelor (not the Blessed) was the hammer and Prince Maekar was the anvil. Of course, GRRM points out it was Bloodraven who won the battle by killing Daemon Blackfyre, but as a sorcerer and bastard, he receives only scorn as a kinslayer and not the glory of victory.

Jon is accompanied by two wolves and ravens. He looks like Odin, only with a sword and not a spear. I know the Old Gods are supposed to be tree spirits but in my opinion, the gods of the North would be similar to the Germanic versions. Or maybe Jon looks like the Stranger.


	22. The Slow Knife

**The Slow Knife**

"Are all Northmen as pigheaded as you?" Talisa said.

The healer from Volantis meant well but the three crossbow bolts had been cut out of his body. Removing the quarrel that pierced the chest was hardest. The wound had to be enlarged and deepened, so that Talisa could remove the bolt head with a pair of small and hollow tongs. Jon washed the wounds with a mixture of white wine, honey and vinegar, and after checking that no dirt or metal remained, wrapped bandages of linen and flax around his shoulder, right arm, and chest. He would use wine and soft sponges to keep the dressings moist.

"Not all Northmen, but we are Starks." Robb said, as he walked into the tent. His battle companions, drawn from the highborn heirs of the North and the Rivermen, stayed outside, exchanging exaggerated war stories and well deserved slaps on the back. Jon did not need guards. Three dire wolves sprawled near him, curled up together and resting after the battle and a large meal of honeyed chicken and a haunch of roast goat.

"Lady Talisa, I thank you for your concern but I am well enough to rise." Jon grimaced. He stood up and chewed a large slug of white willow bark. Ghost perked up his ears.

"You were badly injured. Had the bolts hit bone, you may have lost an arm or worse." she said.

"But they didn't and I haven't. I won't rest when I can save lives." Jon said.

The healer stomped out in frustration, stuffing linen dressings into the doeskin bag with hands, flecked with blood. Jon frowned. "She should really wash her hands first."

"She is a spirited one." Robb said, looking at her slim figure with admiration.

Jon rolled his eyes. "She is a good healer. Bit bossy, though." He rubbed the white wolf's thick fur, and Ghost and Nymeria nipped playfully at Jon's uninjured left arm. Grey Wind sniffed and maintained a regal air.

Robb turned serious. "Smalljon says he fought off three Lannister men at the same time. That saboteurs led by Ramsay Dustin tried to bring down the wall."

"That number will grow larger in the retelling. Smalljon, Eddard Karstark, Brynden Blackwood and Edmure Tully all fought well, else Ramsay would have succeeded. Ramsay is no Dustin. He is a Bolton, and his men and hounds come from the Dreadfort." Jon said. "When I asked whether his father or the Lannisters sent him, he only smirked."

"But how do you know? We have never seen Ramsay with Roose Bolton." Robb said.

"Steelshanks is a Bolton man. And Ramsay has the same small cold pale eyes." Jon said.

"Lord Bolton pushed me into attacking the supply wagons. Only a few thousand sellswords guarded the train but it was a clever trap. The reserve and other Westermen riders would have flanked us." Robb said. "How did the Lannisters send messages to Lord Bolton?"

Jon shrugged. "I do not know, but what will you do with Roose Bolton?"

"What can I do? There is no real proof. Attacking the wagons, and splitting the Lannister army in half was reasonable. I would not blame any of my commanders for the attempt. And Steelshanks is one man. We need more to bring a great lord to justice." Robb said.

"Bolton is a danger. His son wanted my skin for a cloak. His men are scum and the hounds are vicious beasts. The son is a shadow of the father." Jon said.

"We cannot kill him off-hand, not without proof. Father always said the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. I am not ready, even if we should." Robb said.

Bolton will not swing a sword, or at least not from the front — Jon thought. "He will betray us, Robb. We should let him."

"What is your plan?" Robb asked.

"Roose Bolton is a clever man. We are not likely to catch him with a raven to Tywin. Let him make contact with the Lannisters. What he knows, Tywin will know. We can use that. We can prepare for his betrayal. A knife in the front is better than a knife in the back." Jon said.

"Two thousand of our men are Boltons. And hundreds more Ryswells and Dustins." Robb said.

"We do not know if those houses are traitors as well. We should separate Roose Bolton from any potential allies. Have you sent riders to pursue the Lannisters?" Jon asked.

Robb shook his head. "The Blackfish and I commanded almost all the cavalry. The feigned retreat worked but it was not easy. Many men were injured, it took a great deal of time, and the horses are exhausted. The men and the horses need rest."

"Send Roose Bolton to pursue. If he actually kills any Lannisters, that would help. But if he doesn't, he will betray our plans to Lord Tywin. Keep House Ryswell and House Dustin here, and watch their commanders closely." Jon said.

"We can ill afford to lose two thousand men." Robb lamented.

"You have lost them already. Would you trust Roose Bolton at your back in battle?" Jon said. "We need to accept that we have been betrayed. Only then, can we make them pay."

Robb nodded, and called Grey Wind to his side. "I have to speak to the Lords, to see how great our losses were. We need to know how many men the Lannisters have left."

"Send the injured to me. I will save as many as possible, and then speak to the prisoners" Jon said. The brothers left the tent, and their dire wolves followed.

* * *

It was well past midnight when the Winter Town Boys announced that every last bit of herbs - from kingscopper to sour leaf to willow bark had been depleted. There was still boiling wine and a dozen bottles of vinegar left for emergencies but the honey, mustard seeds, and nettle were all gone along with the crushed aloe, the comfrey paste and the penny royal leaves. Jon sent messengers to every holdfast, village, and hall within ten miles, proclaiming the Northern victory and asking that any medicine or healers be sent. They had done yeoman's work that night tending to injured Northmen, Rivermen and Westermen but there was nothing left. They would have to wait until more supplies were delivered in the morning.

Giant vats of bone broth simmered in the open. A covered portico held several large fire pits and outdoor ovens to bake bread and roast meat. Prisoners dug public latrines. Men from both armies had been drafted to dig graves. The rank smell of so many men was overwhelming, even without the multitude of corpses.

"Snow! What are you doing with the bodies of our companions?" Strongboar yelled. Even in chains, the Crakehall knight still blustered. The bald fat man next to him only cowered. Lord Prester and Lord Lydden sat quietly, watched by a dozen armed Winterfell guards.

"Burying them. Otherwise the stink will be even worse." Jon said.

"What about the Silent Sisters? They prepare the dead for a proper burial." Lord Prester said.

"Your men raped septas and burnt down septs. There are no Silent Sisters in these parts of the Riverlands. The bodies will decompose and carry disease. And if it rains, the smell will spread over everything. The graves are shallow. If you wish, you can return here after the War, exhume the bodies, and bring them home." Jon said.

The Westermen digested that information. "So you do not mean to kill us? Or starve us and feed us to the wolves? Or torture us and then kill us?" Lord Prester said.

'That depends. Who is responsible for the carnage in the Riverlands? Who burnt the fields and sacked the towns? Who killed and raped women and children?" Jon said.

"It was not us, Snow. I swear it on my house and my dead mother's soul. My men and I would not stoop to that." The Strongboar said.

"Lord Tywin released his goats and dogs. Gregor Clegane's men, Vargo Hoat and his freeriders, Amory Lorch - those are the scum who committed the crimes." Lord Prester said.

"Then they will be hanged, every one of them. If I had more time, I would make them suffer. Where are they? These men that you blame for the crimes of the Lannister army?" Jon said.

"You killed most of the Mountain's men. He brought over a thousand, and came back with less than two hundred from the Red Fork." The Strongboard said.

"Lord Tywin was greatly wroth." Harys Swyft squeaked.

"One half of the freeriders are here. Hoat and Lorch were told to hold Harrenhal in Lord Tywin's name. And as for the Mountain's men, they crossed the Red Fork again for the battle. I doubt more than a few dozen survived. Maybe less." Lord Prester said.

"You will give them to me for execution. All of them will die for their crimes. And if I find that you lied, I will hang your knights. Ten of yours for each one you refuse to surrender. And I will find out. Chett, take Swyft to look over the prisoners. When he finishes, take Crakehall next, and then Prester and Lydden. Bring every captured lord to look for these men." Jon said.

"Some are injured, Ser, and resting. Lord Leo Lefford broke both his arm and leg when he fell. Lord Robin Moreland lost an eye." Chett said.

"He will lose another if he refuses. Get them up. By the morning, I want all the scum delivered to me. Or I will serve their justice to the highborn.' Jon said.

Jon left to get rest, with Ghost and Nymeria at his side. Outside his tent, wolves crouched and tucked their tails as the dire wolves passed. He slept deeply and dreamed of dragons.

* * *

The men loudly ordered drinks and food, and the innkeep, pot boy and serving maids rushed to bring out jacks of ale and bowls of beef and bacon stew. The Unlucky Hog, a few miles from Bitterbridge, bustled with activity as two dozen gold cloaks armed with black mail armor, iron cudgels and iron spears jested and japed. Boasts of fighting prowess filled the common room. The noise covered a quiet conversation in a small private room upstairs.

Petyr Baelish covered his elegant plum colored doublet with a plain blue cloak. Two fighters stood guard near the door, out of whispering range. One was an imposing giant of six foot and six with brown hair, a hooked nose, and a trimmed beard. The other was stocky and more plain looking with nappy grey hair and a squashed nose. Lothor Brune, quiet and middle aged, was a more skilled sword than Osmund Kettleblack but did not look it.

Petyr sat with two other men. One was garbed in white robes with a small crystal dangling on a fat neck and the other dressed in brown homespun of a penitent, but the manicured hands showed no signs of begging. With a smile, Baelish took out a plain bag with six tiny purple crystals. "The Strangler. You will find Renly Baratheon at Bitterbridge. Given him the gift."

* * *

His arm and his chest throbbed with pain when Jon woke up. He had dreamt of a black dragon, so great that an entire horse could ride down its gullet and be swallowed whole. The riverlands were burning from dragonflame, and nobles and smallborn ran panicked from the terror on the Trident. You are a dragon, the voice whispered. A dragon does not fear.

He broke his fast with two soft boiled eggs. Nymeria and Ghost still slept, their backs together, and Jon wondered if the two had wolf dreams. With care, he strapped the bastard sword to his left side, and a dagger to the right. He studied two lists - one with the dead, and the second prisoners. A score would be valuable hostages, several dozens more were knights and second sons, but a vast number of prisoners were smallfolk. The bulk of the Lannister knights had crossed the river under Ser Addam Marbrand, and died charging the ballistas. Their bodies would be stripped of armor, weapons, and valuables and buried in the trenches.

Jon stepped out into the open air, with two yawning dire wolves. Three large poles, hammered into grass, supported a sturdy horizontal wooden triangle, fifteen feet up in the air. Nooses were already thrown over each of the legs, and dangled eight feet in the air. Four carts packed with tied up prisoners were guarded by the Winter Town boys and Tully men. A crowd of smallfolk had gathered, ready for the hanging.

"Please, Ser. We were only following orders." The speaker was an old stoop shouldered man with cracked yellow teeth. His right arm, crushed from a stone hurled from a catapult, was still encased in mail.

"He is a liar." A woman screamed. "They tortured my boy. They cut off his fingers with knives before he died." She pointed to a man of medium height and build with an ordinary face. The man was entirely forgettable except for cold dead eyes.

"Milord, they deserve to suffer worse than hanging. They raped my daughter." a burly man said.

"You may be correct but death is the normal punishment." Jon's eyes narrowed. After surrendering, the prisoners had been put in chains or bound with rope. Bows, spears and swords had been taken away but some still had knives. One carried a small slender blade with Mikken's mark on the hilt.

Jon drew Needle from the grey scabbard. When he was eight, this had been his first sword, and now it seemed only a thin stiletto. "Where did you get this?" He directed the question to a bald, stocky man with big ears and a large jaw with black bristles.

"I took it from a boy we captured. Only it turned out to be a girl." Polliver said.

"And where is this boy or girl now?" Jon said.

"Ran away from Harrenhal." The man shrugged. "You can have the blade if you want, Ser."

"It is not yours to give." Jon felt Nymeria's hot anger, but these were scum, and not worthy of attention. It was their masters that he wanted to bring to heel. The Mountain's Men were like Ramsey's hounds - frothing dogs that deserved to die.

Jon motioned to the smallfolk. "I will not allow torture, but these men killed your friends and family. The quicker they die, the better. You may help hang them." Grim men eagerly came forward. In but a moment, dozens of necks were broken and the bodies thrown into an unmarked mass grave to be forgotten.

* * *

A large map of Westeros draped over a fine walnut table, both scavenged from a Lannister wagon. Silver stags marked three locations - King's Landing, the site of the battle, and Riverrun. The Lords and commanders crowded the tent but they made a path for the two dire wolves and Jon Snow. Robb was surrounded by the Tullys, his Lady Mother, the Blackfish, and Ser Edmure. Robb motioned for Ser Brynden to begin.

"We had 17,000 men going into the battle. We have 2,000 dead, but another 2,000 injured. It will take weeks for them to fully recover. Lord Tywin had over 25,000. We count over 11,000 dead, half north of the Red Fork, and 1,500 prisoners." the Blackfish said.

"So even after our victory, the Lannister army is as large as ours." Robb frowned.

"The Lannisters also have many injured. Men did not flee unscathed. Those injured may die soon" Lord Mallister argued.

"The sellswords and freeriders may abandon the Lannisters. They had two thousand at the battle." The Blackfish said.

"Enough of these numbers. Shall we march for King's Landing?" The Greatjon said. The Lord of the Last Hearth wanted things plain and simple.

"What is the strength of the Crownlands? Are they loyal to the Lannisters?" Jon asked. He referred to the lands that stretched from Maidenpool to the stormlands. There were many settlements and holdfasts but by people, the Crownlands were based around Blackwater Bay, with the two ports of Duskendale and King's Landing.

"Stannis raised a few thousand men, but in the past, the mainland lords could call armies of more than five thousand. The Lannisters have not called these banners, yet. The lands are so close that they will not rebel against the Throne." The Blackfish said.

"The prisoners say the Iron Throne has recruited more gold cloaks to defend King's Landing. The men in the City Watch have swelled from two thousand to five thousand. The Lannisters may use that to strengthen their forces but I doubt if new recruits are well trained. There would be many sellswords as well in the capital." Jon said.

"King's Landing is four days ride, but we do not have the men. In time, the Lannister army will reassemble. And with the bannermen in the Crownlands, their numbers will grow again. We cannot take the city." Robb said.

"Lord Stark, we have beaten longer odds before." Dacey Mormont said.

"Yes, but not in a siege. King's Landing has thick walls and the Red Keep is a strong castle." Robb said. "We need to scout ahead. Lord Bolton, take your men into the crownlands. If you find pockets, give battle. If you find the main host, then send a messenger back."

"Lord Stark, I will do so, but if our army does not have enough men, how will that change?" Roose Bolton whispered.

"I will determine that, my Lord. For now, I want the army to heal. And I intend to control the Riverroad, the kingsroad and the High Road." Robb said.

Jon wondered what else Robb was leaving unsaid. His brother clearly did not want to show all his plans to the Leech Lord. Nymeria prodded Grey Wind, and the three dire wolves left the tent. Nymeria was eager to run, and Jon would follow.

* * *

Arya woke up to the hungry cries of children. The Inn at the Crossroads swarmed with them — boys and girls, whose parents were dead, missing, or had simply left. There had been half a hundred little houses in the village nearby where crofters scratched out a small life on farms and raising sheep for wool and milk. Those farms had been burnt down, and the sheep eaten.

Life was better at the inn than the abandoned houses. Here, they had a little to eat, donations from a wandering brother handing out sacks of seeds, oaten porridge, flour and barley bread. The septon visited once a week, a big man, six feet tall even hunched over, large leathery hands with dirt under the nails and black horned feet. He walked shoeless, with a quarterstaff, and his donkey carried the food. If Arya's brain was not muddled by hunger and fear, she might have wondered how a septon with a donkey could evade Lannister foragers.

Yesterday, the pushy ten year old Willow and her suspicious older sister Jeyne, ordered that no fires be lit. The Heddles had gotten wind of the battle, and the Inn was locked up tight, with no lights and no noise. They ate cold porridge and stale bread, huddled in darkness with a few crossbows ready. In the night, horses galloped by without stopping, and Arya saw Lannister colors in the dark. When she closed her eyes, she tasted meat and felt warmth - two sensations missing from the Inn at the Crossroads. She dreamt of wolves dancing and singing that night.

Breakfast that morning was a thin gruel, tiny barley groats boiled in water. Bits of brown cabbage and red beets floated in her wooden bowl. Even in her hunger, Arya disliked beets.

"There will be dead horses from the fighting. We could sneak out, and get horsemeat. I could roast it under the coals. No one would even see a fire." Hot Pie said.

"And what if you get caught. You might lead them back to this inn." Jeyne Heddle snapped.

"We don't know if the battle is over. Or who has won." Gendry said.

My brothers will win, Arya thought stubbornly. In the past week, she had wanted to cross the five miles to the Red Fork. There were thousands of Westermen patrolling, and travellers said that all the bridges were flooded or guarded. She swallowed a spoonful of bitter gruel.

A little boy, half naked, ran into the common room, gasping for breath.

"Pate, what are you doing outside? It could be dangerous." Willow scolded.

"I saw them. Coming near the river." he said.

Willow was about to ask more but then the howl of wolves answered. The girl rushed to close the door, but the howling became louder. Gray shapes darted around the inn, and they would hear snarling and snapping. Arya could see several dozen figures, gray and black and tawny brown, hidden in shadows and behind trees. Pate screamed and ran upstairs.

Gendry reached both his hands for his war hammer. The heavy iron head had a long spike on the back. The Heddles wound their crossbows and aimed out the windows. Hot Pie shook in fear and gulped down his bowl of gruel.

The wolves went silent. Then hoofbeats could be heard amid the whinny of horses. Riders dismounted outside, heavily armored men with swords and axes. They ignored the wolves around them. The door swung open. A loud boisterous voice with the distinctive accent of the North cried out. "Drop the crossbow, girl."

A smoke grey dire wolf, lean and as tall as a small horse, strutted into the common room. Hard yellow eyes looked around until it saw her. Then a huge grey dire wolf with an white belly jumped through an open window. Hot Pie squeaked and dove under a table. Arya stepped forward, trembling and unsure. The last dire wolf appeared suddenly at her side, white as snow, with hard garnet eyes. She had never even heard the white wolf sneak behind her.

"Arya Stark." The speaker was young but still a man grown, with a long face, dark brown hair, and eyes so brown they looked black. He wore all black over his mail but there was a white dire wolf emblazoned over his heart. Arya ran and jumped into the waiting arms of Jon Snow. He embraced her tightly, like he would never let her go.

Arya was surprised that tears rolled down her face. After the horrors of the last few months, she had forgotten she could still cry. Jon held her as several others - men, a tall woman, and older boys - walked into the room. When he finally let her go, the Heddles knelt on the floor and a wary Gendry placed the warhammer down, and stepped in front of a cowering Hot Pie.

"My Lord. Welcome to the Inn at the Crossroads." the older Heddle girl stammered.

"Why are you kneeling?" Jon interrupted.

"We don't want to offend you, Ser Snow…. Lord Snow." Willow said keeping her head firmly bowed and eyes on the ground.

"This must be how Robb feels all the time." Jon jested. "Rise."

"This is my brother, Jon Snow." Arya said. "And Jon, these are Gendry and Hot Pie. They helped me escape Harrenhal."

Hot Pie's eyes popped and he looked ready to faint on the dirty floor. The Heddles turned hopeful. Then Ghost snorted, and sniffed from the young Heddle to a spot near the stairs.

"What's under there?" Jon asked, not unkindly.

The older Heddle gulped and then lifted the trap door. Children crept out - ragged boys with unshorn locks and furtive girls, ready to skitter. A few young ones sobbed when they saw the armed men and the dire wolves. Others were silent as they waited their fate.

"How many children are at this inn?" Jon asked.

"Fifty, my lord. Some are hiding upstairs in the rooms." Willow said.

"How long have you been running the inn?"

"Four moons, my lord." Willow said.

Her brother looked at the two Heddles deep in thought. "Have them come out. Every one."

They poured out of the nooks, alcoves and crannies. Arya had never seen all of them in one place. There was not enough food, and it had to be carefully rationed to last a week or longer. She was older than most in the room and unlike the other children, her bones did not stick out. Hunger could be seen in their legs and arms, protruding ribs, and sunken faces.

A boy with a cowlick wrapped thin arms about his chest, as if he was bracing for a beating. "Please Ser, don't eat us."

A burly man with wild reddish brown hair roared in laughter. "And why would we do that? You are all skin and bones."

"Ben means the wolves." Gendry said.

"The wolves stuffed their bellies with Lannister men." the big man grinned.

The tall lanky woman shook her head. Arya admired the spiked steel morningstar at her belt. 'Smalljon, you are scaring the children. I am Dacey Mormont. This idiot here is Smalljon Umber. And this is Eddard Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, and Brynden and Hoster Blackwood."

"I am also known as the Catapult." the man said, smiling.

"What will happen to us, my Lady?" Willow asked quietly.

"The White Wolf will decide. We defeated the Lannister forces yesterday. You will not be harmed." Dacey said. She signaled to Tully guards, and they brought in saddlebags of dried meat and hard bread.

Jon spoke softly to a sharp eyed boy, who quickly left the inn to ride away. "Come on, sister. Let's get some fresh air. Wolves are happier outside." he said.

Arya stepped into the courtyard. Several dozen men wearing Tully or Winterfell colors patrolled the perimeter of the inn, and their horses grazed next to all three roads. Grey Wind trotted fierce and proud, and Ghost roved silently next to his brother. Nymeria walked her own path, the she-wolf not deigning to look at Arya.

"Do you think she will ever forgive me? I had to throw rocks to drive her away. I hit her twice and she whined before she ran." Arya said sadly.

Jon turned from his horse. "There is nothing to forgive, Arya. You chased her away so she would live. Nymeria saved me yesterday at the battle. And she found you this morning. She is yours and you are hers." He handed her a sword in a worn grey scabbard.

Arya drew the slender blade out with wonder. "Needle. But how? The Mountain's Men took it."

"The Mountain lives, but I killed most of his men across the Red Fork. I hung the few that were left, and I took your sword back." Jon said.

He sat down on a bench, Ghost and Grey Wind playing at his feet. Above, ravens croaked and cawed. "Now tell me everything, about King's Landing and your escape." As Arya began to spin her tale, the grey she-wolf approached and nuzzled her side.

Arya spoke for a long time, her brother listening. Jon Snow had a rare ability to concentrate, and he absorbed her words without interruption. After she finished, he asked about the two men she heard plotting underneath the Red Keep and the exact words said at Father's execution. Her brother examined Jaqen H'ghar's iron coin, and then used a parchment to trace the worn down words and image, before returning it to her.

"Arya, Braavos is known for the Iron Bank and the Faceless Men. This is their coin." Jon said.

"Do you know about them?" Arya said.

"No one knows much. They are from ancient Valyria, and these words are Valar Morghulis and Valar Dohaeris. All men must die and All men must serve. The price for their aid is very high, more than sane men dare pay." he said.

"I don't want to be weak. I want to kill them all. Cersei, Joffrey, Meryn Trant, the Hound, Ser Gregor, Ilyn Payne. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid, ever again." Arya said.

"You are not weak, Arya. You have survived so much. We will get revenge for Father."

"I should have given Tywin Lannister as a name to Jaqen. This stupid war would be over."

"Robb and I both want that. But we would rather have you alive than Lord Tywin dead." Jon mussed her hair and they sat together with the dire wolves in comfortable silence, until a large covered wagon rumbled into the yard, pulled by a team of drays. "Let's go back to the Inn."

* * *

They entered to raucous laughter. Smalljon Umber and Eddard Karstark stood on a long table, heads bumping against the roof, making great sweeping gestures with a greatsword and axe. Several Wintertown Crew pretended to attack, flailing helplessly against the two beefy warriors. Some boys wore wooden bowls as helmets and could barely see, or were turned sideways.

"What is going on?" Jon asked.

"Smalljon is re-enacting the Battle of the Three Wolves, and how he defended the wall against Lannister men." Dacey said.

"Only half a dozen? I thought the Smalljon said it was a score." Jon said.

"Karstark and I had to save a few for the Rivermen." Umber cried. Brynden Blackwood scoffed. He and Hoster had better sense than to climb a rickety table.

The door opened, and the smell of fresh bread wafted through the inn. Chett carried loaves in both hands, and men rolled casks and hefted sacks.

"Maester Snow. We took some fresh bread from the ovens. And the wagon has wheat flour, barley, bacon, poppy oil, dried beef, butter, wheels of cheese, dried fish, and sacks of onions, carrots, nuts, and beans. We even have a small pot of salt." Chett said.

"We brought barrels of wine and ale too, Maester." Clydas said

"I will take those, lads." Smalljon said, looking for mugs and jacks behind the counter.

"Can we have some food, Ser?" Willow Heddle asked.

"The food is all for you, to feed the children at the Inn. You took Arya in, even when you did not know her name. And for that, you have my thanks." Jon said to the wide-eyed children. "Your inn is under my protection. If anyone threatens you, inform me. And if anyone hurts you, I will make that person pray for a quick death."

"I can bake bread. I know how to mill grain and knead dough. I can fire the oven and make the bread rise, my Lord." Hot Pie said.

The Heddles looked at the fat boy skeptically. Arya stepped forward. "His name is Hot Pie. He would know how to bake."

Jeyne Heddle nodded immediately. "Of course, my Lady. Whatever you wish. If you sit down, we would be happy to serve a meal." She gave a low curtsy.

Hot Pie went back to the kitchen, and Jeyne Heddle oversaw the unloading of many barrels and sacks. Willow yelled at the children, and they pushed tables together to form three long rows. Some boys ran to get benches and chairs, while others carried heavy pails of water from the well. Some water went into the kitchen but all the children were directed to wash up at a basin. The Inn at the Crossroads, moribund even that morning, burst into life.

Arya sat next to Jon as he discussed orders. The She-bear would travel East on the Trident with many guards to make certain the Lannisters did not control the waterway and the Bay of Crabs. Karstark and Smalljon would go the same route but they would secure Saltpans first, and then join Dacey at Maidenpool. Hornwood and the Blackwoods would go north, to make sure the lands around House Darry were clear of bandits.

Pork pies, root soup, oatcakes, and skewers of meat and onions emerged from the kitchen. Arya devoured a round of bread, stuffed with sizzling bacon, and the children fell on the food like starving wolves. Hot Pie's bread was delicious. After the lunch, Arya would ride West with Jon to find Robb and her mother. In all the excitement, she did not notice a large raven who nested near the inn, in plain sight of the common room.

* * *

The lemon cakes went untouched as Lady Alerie tried and failed to calm down a distraught Loras. The Knight of Flowers raged and the Tyrells wisely sent away the maesters and the septons to a far corner of Bitterbridge Castle. Renly Baratheon died last night with splotches on his eyes and neck, a black tongue, and a purple face. When Archmaester Ebrose was summoned in the morning, the healer could not understand how Renly choked to death but the septons attributed the death to sorcery and the Red Witch.

Garlan and Willas watched with concern as Margaery soothed her brother. The Tyrells were a close knit family and the plight of the youngest pained his siblings. His love - deep, pure, and childlike - had turned to despair. Only love could bring such pain.

"I would kill Stannis a thousand times to bring Renly back." Loras cried.

"Hush. They say that Stannis prepares to leave Storm's End to make his way to Dragonstone." She held his head in her arms, like a babe.

"To be brought down by a Red Witch from Asshai. All plans lose to magic." Olenna said bitterly.

Lady Alerie took her son away, leaving the other Tyrells. "Grandmother, Petyr Baelish has sent another messenger. He is five miles away on the Rose Road. We have already delayed for several days." Willas said.

"How many men does he have with him?" Olenna asked.

"Two dozen. Gold cloaks from King's Landing, and Baelish claims that he is an envoy of the Iron Throne." Willas said.

"Why do we need to see this coin counter?" Mace huffed.

"Because our side cannot win anymore. We have no one who could be King." Garlan said.

"And what of the Riverlands? Is there any news?" Olenna said.

Willas shook his head. "Our spies have gone quiet. From Stony Sept to Maidenpool, there is only silence. The last news was Robb Stark's return to Riverrun, and that the Young Wolf plans to force Tywin Lannister into a great battle. Although there are stories… that the old gods have granted Jon Snow powers. That he has the greensight, and can see things yet to come."

"More sorcery. The North and their blasted trees and wild beasts" Mace Tyrell scoffed. "The Stark boy is too eager for battle. Lord Tywin is my equal in war. He will not be easily bested."

"We have to meet with Lord Baelish. Stannis Baratheon is entirely unsuitable for many reasons, not the least of which the man has the personality of a lobster." Olenna said.

"Baelor Hightower sought me out yesterday. Many at the Starry Sept are angered by the desecration of septs in the Riverlands. Ser Baelor says that if the Iron Throne does nothing, the Swords and the Stars may rise again to protect the Faith." Garlan said.

"But what does that all mean? And who do they blame for it?" Margaery said.

"They should blame Tywin Lannister for the Mountain and his sellswords. But he is too powerful to attack, so we do not know. The game is getting more dangerous." Garlan said.

"Why not just wait for the victor? Stay at Highgarden and keep our forces at home?" Willas said.

Olenna scoffed. "The cow has already been milked and the cream cannot be squirted back. We have declared against the Iron Throne. If the Lannisters win, they may strip us of some lands. If Stannis wins, House Tyrell will be attainted."

"What if the wolves win?" Garlan asked.

"Then we will plan for that too." Olenna said.

* * *

Petyr Baelish ignored the prissy Lord Caswell and made a straight line to the Tyrells. He had waited at the Unlucky Hog for days, and was eager to make the offer. Like many clever boys, he disliked being in the dark, and his men in King's Landing had sent no news of the Northmen.

"Ah, Lady Olenna, I rejoice to see you well. I thank House Tyrell for meeting me." Baelish said.

"Enough empty words. If I need a fool, I would call Butterbumps. What is the Iron Throne offering?" Olenna said.

Tyrell guards were posted on all sides of the room. Willas and Garlan stood near their father. Mace Tyrell sat on an elevated chair, looking to all like a fat green flower tied to a stake. The Queen of Thorns drank tea in the corner with Margaery and Alerie by her side. Loras was dressed in the armor and cloak of the Rainbow Guard.

"An alliance of course. A dream of spring and not bloody war in the Riverlands. A betrothal between King Joffrey and the Rose of Highgarden." Baelish said.

"My sister has a husband." Willas said cooly.

"Yes, but at King's Landing, we hear that Renly is hurt and might not wake. And even if he did, would he be capable of giving your sister children?" Baelish said.

"King Renly died last evening." Garlan said. The eyes of the room were on Littlefinger.

He clutched his hands to the plum velvet doublet in shock. "I am sorry for your loss. I know he rose against the Iron Throne but I was his friend in happier days."

Loras snorted. "You lie. Renly did not like you at all. He named you a whoremonger."

The Mockingbird showed no anger in the plastered smile. "I do not deny who I am. It saddens me to hear of Renly's dislike but it does not change the terms. I can offer a king in marriage and that Tyrell blood will hold the Iron Throne. Surely that is what you want for Lady Margaery."

"And what will it cost us?" Olenna said.

"The swords of the Reach. You would defend the honor of the new Queen. And, Stannis is an enemy of the Crown, and Renly would get justice at your hands." Baelish said.

"And what of this Joffrey who claims to be a stag and looks so much like a lion?" Olenna said.

"Joffrey is a good king, noble and true." Baelish said.

"Do good kings order their betrothed stripped and beaten in front of the court?" Olenna said.

"Lies spread by his enemies." Baelish said smoothly.

"Lord Baelish, that is what your gold cloaks say at the inn. That Joffrey is a spoiled brat prone to anger. And that he is cruel and reckless." Willas said.

"I never said he was perfect." Baelish said. "Surely there is some way to settle this. Perhaps, a seat on the Small Council or lands."

"We would need more than one seat on the Council before I give up my beloved daughter." Mace declared. He shut up after a furious glare from Olenna.

"We will need time to consider. But there is one more thing House Tyrell requires." Lady Olenna said. "Sansa Stark."

* * *

Sansa Stark stared over Aegon's High Hill from her room at the Tower of the Hand. She had been stuck here for two weeks, although she was not truly a prisoner. She had two airy rooms, and servants. She had a writing table in the Small Hall, a room that could seat two hundred, where she could read or play the harp. There was no point in writing. The Lannisters would never allow a raven to be sent to her brother and mother.

That morning, Sansa had woken, and after taking breakfast alone, sat by the large barred window to knit. She knit the same pattern with the same wool and the same needles - a grey dire wolf with soft yellow eyes. Lady was the smallest of the litter, dainty and trusting, so much that she had not expected the killing stroke by Lord Stark. Every day, Sansa knit a banner of Lady, and every night, she tore the threads out. Her sweet wolf, lost forever from her own lies.

The great wooden door opened and Tyrion Lannister stormed in. His squire followed and the black haired sellsword brought a large group of guards. Several Mountain clansmen poured into the Small Hall, shouting questions and demanding answers. The chieftains of the clans shouted louder, and with a menacing set of gestures, forced their men out of the room.

"Wine, Podrick. The best bottle. We should drink everything we can." Tyrion said and sat down. The quiet boy rushed off and brought back a bottle of Arbor Gold. Tyrion poured the wine out into three silver goblets. She declined the offer

Sansa curtsied slightly. "My Lord Hand. Has something happened?"

"You should tell her, Dwarf. Everyone will find out soon enough." The sellsword said.

Tyrion gulped down his glass, and then took a large swig from Sansa's goblet. 'This morning, a begging brother started to preach on Cobbler's Square. He said that King's Landing was doomed and that the filth of the city would be purged by fire."

"But beggars have said many things like that before." Sansa said.

"Yes, King's Landing is full of the criminally insane. But the preacher claims that his brothers and sisters in the Faith saw the carnage in the Riverlands. That the Starks crushed the Lannister army and drove Lord Tywin from that field." Tyrion guzzled down more wine.

"But how do you know if this is true?" Sansa asked.

"We don't. But the rumors continue. They say that Snow massacred the Lannister knights at the Red Fork. That he conjured an army of wolves and ravens, which devoured men alive. That he can warg into wolves and birds, and took no prisoners. The tales spread through every pot shop, winesink and alehouse in the city." Tyrion said with disgust.

"Our maesters have sent ravens to Antlers, Maidenpool, and Harrenhal, but there is no response. People worry… that this Snow may command the ravens to answer only to him." Podrick squeaked.

'Of course there is no response. Maidenpool is two hundred miles. A raven will not fly there and return until nightfall. We do not know if the Lannister army has been beaten." Tyrion snapped and then guzzled more wine.

"You don't believe that, dwarf. These stories have too much detail. They claim that Jon Snow built a wall that could not be broken. And that Robb Stark would have killed your father on the field had it not been for the Mountain. Sellswords know when men lose battles. If your father won, he would send a raven, announcing the victory." Bronn said.

Tyrion poured another hefty slug of Arbor Gold and downed it. It was not yet noon, but half the bottle was gone. "Should he drink this much?" Sansa asked. In the shock of the news, she had forgotten her lady's courtesies.

Bronn shrugged. "He thinks better when he is drunk. We need all the thinking we can get."

"The Northmen are still over 200 miles away. My father will have left a garrison at Harrenhal. That castle needs to be taken. And if the Starks march to Maidenpool and down to Duskendale, my father may regroup his forces and ambush them there." Tyrion said.

"Either that wine is shit or you need a lot more. If Tywin retreats to Harrenhal, we are fucked. The Starks will just surround the castle and then sent men down the Kingsroad. If this Jon Snow can summon ravens, there is no chance in hell your father can ambush him in the open field. The Wolves beat him with his full army." Bronn said.

"Yes, but perhaps that will delay them. Lady Sansa, you know your brothers. Are they likely to charge down immediately to King's Landing?" Tyrion asked.

Sansa wiped any emotion from her face, wary of Lannister tricks. "My brothers are traitors. My father and mother are traitors. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey." She said.

"Lady Sansa, you do not need to hide. We know who you wish to win." Tyrion said gently.

She refused to answer. They could beat her, but it would not be for something she said. She kept her hands over her knitting and hid the image of Lady.

The great doors to the Small Hall swung open again. A plump bald man, garbed in rich silk and velvet Pentoshi robes. walked in. His soft effeminate white hands smelled of lilac and lavender. Varys had no guards and no weapons but the Master of Whispers knew things that no one should know. He frightened Sansa, but then, so did many people in the Red Keep.

"Ah, my Lord Hand, we have been summoned by the King for a meeting of the Small Council." Varys announced.

"Was this your doing?" the dwarf asked.

"Pardon? The meeting was called by Joffrey." The eunuch replied.

"This preacher in Cobbler's Square - did your little birds give him the news of the battle? You are supposed to know everything that goes on in Westeros." Tyrion said.

"I knew the battle was being fought near the Trident. But when armies clash, my little birds do not think of sending messages and ravens. They merely want to live for another day." Varys said. "Many men and women sworn to the Faith have died in the Riverlands. More come every day to the Capital with stories of the War. They do not like your father."

"No one likes my father. And you do not have spies in those men? I am surprised, Varys. You have eyes everywhere in this city." Tyrion said.

"I am no sorcerer able to command wolves and ravens. But I have something I can share." When Varys reached into his robe, Bronn put a hand on his dagger. The eunuch withdrew a sliver of parchment. "The raven came late this morning from a holdfast on the Kingsroad."

"And what does it say?" Tyrion asked.

"The Lannister army fled past the keep last night. Thousands of men running South." Varys read aloud. "The lion in full and utter retreat."

* * *

The meeting at the Red Keep was insipid even by Tyrion's low expectations. Joffrey had raged and screamed. Cersei wavered between comforting her son and ranting at the incompetence of others. When Tyrion pointed out that incompetence was pure Lannister and the blame should be placed on their Lord Father, Cersei and Pycelle both shut up.

"Your grace, my little birds have told me a story in the Reach. The usurper Renly has passed away from his injuries." Varys said.

Tyrion snorted. The death coincided with Baelish's visit. Littlefinger had been busy.

"I wish my uncle had not died." Joffrey said, and then sneered. "Because if he were alive, I would take his head and mount it on the Red Keep."

"Your grace, we need to concentrate on the living. We need more swords if the Northern Army marches to King's Landing. Lord Baelish has gone to the Reach. We will need to urge him to pursue the Tyrells further." Tyrion said.

"For once, you make sense. Promise them anything. I want the Northmen defeated. I want Robb Stark's head served at a feast. I want Jon Snow drawn and quartered." Joffrey said.

"There are other armies still out there. The Martells. I believe we should offer a betrothal with Myrcella to keep them as allies to the Throne." Tyrion said.

"You are not selling my daughter to the Dornish. They hated us for years. The Martells might kill her." Cersei yelled.

"Will it get us swords?" Joffrey demanded.

"It may prevent those swords from being sworn to other parties. If Stannis or Robb Stark ally with Dorne, we could be attacked from the South." Tyrion said.

"Send Myrcella to Dorne." Joffrey said.

Cersei looked at her son in shock. "But sweetling, she might not be safe."

"I don't care, Mother. I don't care if Tommen or Myrcella die. They live to serve me. I am the King! What about Storm's End?" Joffrey said.

"Your Grace, the castle is in Stannis Baratheon's hands. Ser Gilbert Farring holds it as castellan. Stannis's fleet has been preparing to depart."

"Will he attack King's Landing?" The look of fear on Joffrey's face would be comical if Tyrion was not worried about the same.

"Stannis may, but he does not have the forces to take the city. We have several ways to defend the city - wildfire and a great steel..." Tyrion said.

"No one cares, uncle." Joffrey had stopped listening. Anger built again on his face. "What about these Stormlanders?"

"Few have defected to Stannis. Most have returned to their keeps." Varys said.

"Why are they not serving me? Why are they not fighting for me?" Joffrey demanded.

Because they do not think you are a Baratheon, Tyrion thought. We are lucky that they see Stannis as a Kinslayer.

"Sweetling, they are pledged to Storm's End. With the control of the castle in question, the liege lords must consider their oaths." Cersei explained.

An enraged Joffrey slammed his hand on the table. "They should serve the King. When the war is over, I will have their heads for treason. I should have my own forces, and not depend on Lords. I won't need Lannisters, Martells, or Tyrells."

As Cersei tried to convince a petulant Joffrey that was not possible, Tyrion had a flash of happiness. He would have loved to see his nephew lead an army against Robb Stark and Jon Snow. Then Tyrion realized that at the end of that battle, the Lannisters would all lose their heads. His head may not have been large or pretty but he was quite attached to it.

* * *

Arya Stark crept in the afternoon shadows to Jon's tent. She was happy to see Robb and her mother but a day later, she was tired of being fussed over by Lady Catelyn, Lady Smallwood, and Lady Blackwood. She had been forced into a tub, and doused with scalding water. Servants had scrubbed her skin until she was bright red, and then dumped in some stinky flowers.

Nymeria had taken one look at the tub, and then ran away to Ghost. The white dire wolf guarded Jon's tent, between the prisoners and the wounded. The pack of gray wolves stayed close, and ravens quorked at all hours. Jon had three dozen boys, distributing supplies, guarding the catapults and ballista, feeding the wounded and changing dressings, and running errands. Some were only a name day older than she was, but they ordered prisoners to carry supplies, dig graves, and break down the wall to be sawed into long shafts.

Arya had asked why prisoners, many not even in chains, would follow the orders of young boys. Hallis Mollen answered. "They are afraid of the White Wolf. The stories of what he has done at the Tooth — beg pardon, but it is not for a lady's ears."

When supper was served, she was washed, and combed and dressed. They had no gowns, so they gave her brown stockings, a tunic, and an oversized doublet. Her mother sewed a kirtle in Tully colors - mud red and blue. She sat at a high table, near her brother Robb. But when Robb was diverted, lords and ladies would gossip and tell tales. They talked about the Battle at the Red River, and how Jon Snow silenced the ballistas until knights charged into a field of death. They whispered about wolves and ravens, and how Ghost's red eyes were like the bleeding face of a weirwood tree. They boasted that the North could not be defeated - the Young Wolf's leadership, the White Wolf's sorcery. They loved her brother Robb. They feared her brother Jon.

Jon was not at dinner. There were hundreds of badly injured soldiers, and he spent many hours tending to the wounded. He also worked often with the artillery. The highborn and smallborn alike marvelled at the killing power of the machines. Robb was busy as well, speaking to Lords, listening to complaints, and sparring with his trusted battle guard. Robb could often be found in his battle tent, Grey Wind at his feet, writing ravens to castles in the Riverlands and the North.

She was seen just as their little sister, Arya Underfoot. The men paid their courtesies, and Winterfell and Tully guards kept a constant eye on her. Her mother insisted she sleep in the same tent, but Nymeria wanted to stay out in the open, near Ghost. She hugged the dire wolf before bed but it wasn't the same. She was pampered, coddled and loved. But that wasn't her. She would never be a proper lady.

She snuck away from Hallis Mollen and Alebelly. Through the tent flap, Ghost sniffed her first and then Nymeria. The ravens glanced at her with beady eyes before turning away. A tall blond boy, perhaps ten and four, was leaving the tent, carrying a scroll.

Arya walked in and hugged Nymeria. "I missed you." The dire wolf rubbed her grey fur against her cheek, and Jon smiled.

"She is going to get your dress dirty." Jon said.

"Good." Arya said, looking at the bundles of paper in front of her brother. "What are you doing?"

"Preparing. Once we take down the fortifications on the Red Fork, there is no reason to stay. The prisoners should be moved to castles or ransomed. I may keep a few boys here to tend the injured but the army should camp elsewhere. And the seriously wounded should be moved to Harroway or Stone Hedge. We will go south and east." Jon said.

"Are you going to leave me?" Arya demanded.

Jon arched his eyebrows. "Arya, Robb and I just found you. And Nymeria too."

Arya bit her lip. "I overheard stories from the servants. That you are a warg and a sorcerer. They whisper dark things about you."

Jon offered her a chair. "Arya, I am a warg. I can see from the eyes of a wolf or a raven. We could not have crossed the Golden Tooth otherwise. And at the Red Fork, if I didn't warg into the wolves and the ravens, the Lannisters would have won."

"What was that like? They say you summoned a cloud of ravens so vast, the sky darkened." Arya asked with wonder.

"Strange and frightening. I could see from a thousand eyes - the ravens and wolves. I felt powerful but mad, like I would lose my mind. Magic is a double edged sword. There is no safety when you grasp it." Jon said.

A somber Arya looked down. "I think I am a warg too. I have wolf dreams. I saw Nymeria attacking four men who were tracking me. She killed them with her pack."

"I am not ashamed to be a warg. It is a part of me. And it is a part of you. It does not change who you are. To be bonded with a dire wolf is a wonderful thing, a gift from the gods. Nymeria saved me at the Red Fork. And Ghost has helped me many times. He deserves to be honored more than me." Jon said. The white wolf cocked his head and rubbed Jon's leg.

Arya held Nymeria, her skinny arms around the she wolf's strong neck. She looked up to her brother. "I want to stay with you and Robb, with Ghost, Grey Wind and Nymeria. I don't want to be locked up in a castle, or paraded around as a lady. I want to help you fight."

"Arya, war is dangerous." Jon said.

"So is peace. They killed Sansa's dire wolf. And for what? Because Joffrey attacked my friend Mycah and tried to hurt me." Arya said.

"Joffrey truly is a shit." Jon said.

"I could stay with you, Jon. I could be your squire." Arya said eagerly.

Jon laughed. "I am not a knight, Arya."

"Robb isn't a knight, either - and he has a squire." she said. "I would be a great squire. It is much better than being married off like a prize."

Jon smiled. "You know, the Freys wanted a betrothal to cross their bridge. They asked for Robb's hand and yours in marriage."

Arya turned white, and then got angry. "Which Frey was it?"

"Elmar, I think. The squire who picks his nose." Jon burst out laughing at her sour reaction.

"How can you laugh?" Arya fumed.

"Arya, if we do not laugh, we could only cry. I will not let anyone undeserving marry you. And besides if you married Elmar Frey, Nymeria would probably eat him." Jon said.

They were still laughing when Chett came into the tent. "Maester Snow, Lord Stark has called for you for a War Council."

"Thank you, Chett. My sister and I will attend."

* * *

Jon ignored the strange looks when they walked into the tent. The mood was grave, and the Northern Lords had lost all sense of joy. The Greatjon paced back and forth, like a giant ready to roar. It had been only two days after their victory at the Red Fork.

"Sweetling, what are you doing here?" Lady Stark asked of her daughter.

"Jon said I should attend." Arya responded.

"But you are too young, Lady Arya. These are matters of war." Robett Glover said.

"Arya is a Stark. And the Starks have always served their house in wars." Jon said.

"She has only 11 name days." Catelyn said with anger. .

"It will be my twelfth name day soon." Arya said stubbornly.

Jon raised his hand. "My lords, you have accepted that I am Robb's heir." The Northern lords nodded, some reluctantly. "Arya is my heir. If I fall, I return my title to House Stark."

Robb had a faint smile on his face. "Well played, Jon."

"Bran should be the heir after Robb." Catelyn grumbled.

"In a time of peace, he would be. This is war. Arya is a year older, and Jon chose her. You are welcome to join us, sister." Robb offered the seats next to him. "Several ravens arrived today with dark news. Ironborn ships have been seen in the North. Thirty long ships were sighted at Deepwood Motte. Eight more at the Stony Shore. But the worst news comes from Flint's Finger. They have seen a hundred ships in Blazewater Bay."

"Lord Stark, that must be the Iron Fleet, captained by Victarion Greyjoy. He is a powerful warrior but only follows Balon's orders. Stupid and stubborn as an ox, that one." Lord Mallister said.

"Robb, we must send more men to defend Winterfell." Catelyn said.

"Men from White Harbour arrived at Winterfell a week ago. And with the levees, Ser Rodrick will command two thousand. But Victarion will have five to ten thousand men." Robb said,

"How do we know he will attack Winterfell? His ships are hundreds of miles away." Arya said.

"Arya is right. Victarion would have to abandon his ships and trek a long distance over land. Although — they could sail up the rivers to get closer." Jon said.

"Men from Torrhen's Square report that they have seen Theon Greyjoy at the Stony Shore. They ask whether they should venture West to attack him." Robb said.

"That's very odd." Jon said, thinking deeply. The Northmen waited for him to continue. "Theon has lived in Winterfell for a decade. If the Greyjoys wanted to attack Winterfell, Theon would be with the main fleet. Even if Victarion was commander, he would want Theon's knowledge."

"But if the Iron Fleet is not attacking Winterfell, why are they there?" Arya said.

Jon and Robb both studied the map. Blazewater Bay was a large but narrow bay of the Sunset Sea. Ships from Torrhen's Square and Barrowtown could travel south into the Saltspear. But the Saltspear also extended even further east, hundreds of miles. There, it hit the Fever River, part of the Neck that separated the North from the Seven Kingdoms. And at the end of the Fever River, only twenty miles inland, the ancient stronghold of the First Men stood, Moat Cailin.

"Of course." Jon said. Both brothers had realized at the same time. "The Iron Fleet is doing what I suggested to Ser Stevron. They wish to sail their ships East on the Saltspear, and the Fever River. They want to take Moat Cailin from the West." Jon said.

"But… if they do so, Lord Snow, we will be trapped South of the Neck.' Harrion said. Moat Cailin commanded the only road through the Neck. Any army moving North would lose a huge number to bogs, quicksand, and swamps. Rampant disease would break out among the soldiers.

"We will need to send a raven to Moat Cailin. Jon has sent five hundred more archers and spearmen. So they will have six hundred men. But it will be harder to hold off an army from the West or North than the South." Robb said.

"There is a weakness to the Greyjoy plan." The eyes in the room turned to Jon. "The Fever River narrows a great deal. At some points, only one or two ships can pass. The Iron Fleet will be vulnerable."

"But the Iron Fleet has thousands of men." Lord Karstark said.

"We would not attack the men. We attack the ships. If we could sink one ship, we could block the river. North of the River, there are barrows - hills that Northmen could use to hide and attack. South of the River, there are swamps. It is called the Fever River for a reason. If Victarion Greyjoy gets stuck on the Fever River, his men will die of sickness and starvation." Jon said.

Robb nodded. "Go find me the leader of the Dustins."

The Greatjon bought Ser Rogar Dustin into the room. He was a second cousin of the late Lord, and also related to the Ryswells. He led the small cohort of men from Barrowtown. "Ser Rogar, are you loyal to the North? Will Barrowtown keep their faith with the Starks?"

The knight might have taken offense but the many hard and angry faces in the tent stopped him. "My Lord, I do not understand. It is true Lady Barbrey has grievances but House Dustin has fought for the Starks in the last three wars." Rogar said.

"The Greyjoys mean to attack Moat Cailin from the West on the Fever River. I want Barrowtown to call levees and harass the squids as they go through the swamp. No direct engagements or assaults, but hit and run only, particularly to damage the ships. I want their forces slowed down. You will write to Lady Barbrey. If she should delay or pretend not to receive my raven, when the war ends, I will send Jon Snow to sack Barrowtown, tear down Barrow Hall and end the Dustin line." Robb said.

"And I will help him." Greatjon Umber said. "Any Northmen who allows squids to attack should be buried in the Neck or drowned at sea. The North will remember if you are traitors. The Umbers are with you, Lord Stark." The Flints, Manderlys and Karstarks also agreed.

"My Lord, I will write the raven. I am certain Lady Barbary will heed the call. I will speak to the Ryswell men as well." a red-faced Rogar said and quickly left.

"Tallhart's men at the Twins must go North to the Moat. And I will send crannogmen to find Lord Reed, and tell him to attack from the South. They can raft up the Green Fork." Robb said.

"White Harbor can send men too, Lord Stark. But it will take weeks. There is no road that connects White Harbour to the Kingsroad." Wylis said.

"What of Deepwood Motte, my Lord? The castle is well provisioned and has hundreds of Glover men, but the villagers will suffer." Robett Glover said.

"There is little we can do. The Mormonts have sent most of their forces South. Lady Glover will have to withstand the siege." Robb said. "And Manderly men must stay at Winterfell. I want my brothers safe. I promise that the Ironborn will pay dearly for the attack."

"Robb, we should send a messenger to King's Landing. We can get Sansa back and return North to defeat the Greyjoys." Catelyn said.

"Joffrey the Illborn still sits on the Throne. But I would prefer not to fight on two fronts. We will treat with the Lannisters, but only from strength. We will clear the rest of the Riverlands. Eddard, Dacey, and the Smalljon have already started. In a few weeks, I want any bandits and Lannisters gone. We will need to take Harrenhal, and control the King's Road. We will send more men to clear Darry, and Maidenpool, and South." Robb said.

"Our forces will be stretched thin. And Rivermen may be slow to return, when they see their burnt down farms and destroyed villages." The Blackfish warned.

"We are stretched too thin, already. That cannot be helped. Maidenport and Darry should be free. And Harrenhal must be taken. If Tywin Lannister returns North, then we need that castle as a base for supplies." Robb said.

* * *

Robb dismissed the Lords and his lady Mother. He kept back only his siblings, Jon and Arya and their dire wolves. "So you are now Jon's heir. When did this happen?" Robb asked.

"I never asked for it." Arya protested. "It was a surprise to me."

"Now you know how I felt when Robb declared me his Heir." Jon said.

"True enough. Jon was rather annoyed at being proclaimed Heir to the North. He still wants to return to the Citadel." Robb said. He poured goblets of water for his brother and sister. "What do you think about Moat Cailin?"

"It will be a close thing. It depends a great deal on whether the IronBorn can be taken by surprise. And on whether Lord Reed and Lady Dustin send enough men." Jon said. "But even if you lose Moat Cailin, hope is not lost. You could sail men from Maidenpool to White Harbour. It would take a month, but you can take Moat Cailin from the North. If I had three thousand men, I could destroy the Greyjoys on the Fever River.

"I cannot spare you to go North, brother. The Iron Throne is the true threat. And we do not have enough men." Robb said. "I am sending Ser Robar Royce to the Vale."

"Ser Robar is a good man. But a knight can serve who he wishes. A Lord cannot." Jon said.

"What are the two of you talking about?" Arya asked.

"Ser Robar is Yohn Royce's second son. Robb wants men from the Vale. But your aunt has refused. They may be old friends of Father but I am not certain Lord Royce or Redfort will disobey Lady Arryn. We have lost two thousand in battle. We had to send another fifteen hundred North. A thousand more guard the Tooth. And Lord Bolton means to betray us." Jon said.

"The Boltons? But… how and what will you do?" Arya said.

"Roose Bolton will pay. His bastard betrayed us at the Red Fork." Jon said.

"We have many enemies. Jon has removed the lands to the West from the war, but we still have Ironborn to the North, King's Landing and the Lannisters, Bolton's treachery and who knows what Stannis Baratheon will do." Robb said. "Arya, are you certain you want to stay on the battlefield? We could send you somewhere safe."

"You are not going to marry me off!" Arya cried.

Robb shot a dirty look at Jon who shrugged and smiled. Robb sighed and looked at his angry sister. "I swear little sister, that I will not marry you off without your consent. One awful betrothal in this family is enough." He said.

"I am going to be Jon's squire." Arya said, and Nymeria perked up her ears.

Robb groaned. "You explain this to Lady Stark." he said to Jon who rolled his eyes. Ghost and Grey Wind shook their heads but Nymeria only snickered while Arya beamed. Jon could not complain about the turn of events. He would make certain that his sister stayed safe. Now, they only needed Sansa, and the Starks could return to Winterfell and the rest of the pack.

* * *

Petyr Baelish smiled as he walked through the hall, fingering the small crystal that had hung on the false septon's neck. Lothor Brune had washed the blood off after disposing of the mummers. Negotiations were going well. He had promised two positions on the Kingsguard to the Reach, the meaningless Master of Laws spot on the Small Council, the return of Hobber and Horas Redwyne, and a tax holiday of two years for Highgarden. He had been forced to give Sansa Stark up to the Queen of Thorns but that promise could be broken. Joffrey Baratheon hated losing his toys. The Tyrells still wanted more, but that would come at the cost of the Lannisters. The only question was when those two Houses would go to war.

As Baelish entered the room, the blade of a longsword sliced down, stopping an inch from his neck. Half the Seven Kingdoms might think Loras Tyrell exceptionally handsome but Littlefinger weighed the value of good looks only in whores, not in men who might kill him.

"Do you mean to cozen us?" Loras shouted. A pompous Mace nodded behind him.

"My Lords, what is the meaning of this? I have come in good faith. If I have offended you, tell me why." Baelish said with feigned outrage.

"Loras, bring him to me." The Queen of Thrones commanded, surrounded by her grandchildren. "We received news from the Riverlands this morning. Did you know?"

"I left King's Landing before any battle. How could I have received any news?" Baelish said. "I am in the dark, my Lords."

"Tywin Lannister lost at the Red Fork. He fled South like a dog. They say the best knights of the Westerlands died at the river, slain by traps and spells by the Bloody Wolf." Willas said. "The slaughter was so great that ravens and wolves swarmed the field, devouring men alive."

"The Lannisters had the larger army and yet the Wolves beat them bloody. Would you have us join the losing side?" Garlan said.

Baelish smiled. "But that is wonderful news, my Lords. And even better for the Reach and Highgarden. You will be a great queen, your grace." Littlefinger bowed to Margaery Tyrell.

"What trickery is this?" a confused Mace asked.

"With Tywin Lannister defeated, the Iron Throne will need your swords even more. You will have greater influence. Mace Tyrell, the Hand of the King. Willas Tyrell, Master of Laws. Perhaps you would be the Master of Ships, Ser Garlan. And Lady Margaery, the Good Queen Alysanne had her own sworn shield. You might ask for an entire queensguard." Baelish said.

"I don't like the sea, Baelish. And the wolves are still on the field." Garlan said.

A shocked Mace Tyrell found his voice. "Hand of the King! Do you really think Tywin will let me be Hand? I would be the first Tyrell - even greater than Leo Longthorn. He may have been the best knight in the Seven Kingdoms but he was not Hand."

"Of course, My Lord. You would be the First of your name to be Hand. And as Hand, you would have two Reachmen on the Council and my vote as Master of Coin. Joffrey may be Baratheon and Lannister but behind the Throne, it would be all Tyrells." Baelish said.

Before Mace could puff up further, Olenna Tyrell's voice rang out. "Lord Baelish, I would have a word alone."

* * *

Petyr retired with the Queen of Thorns to the solar. Her two giant guards loomed over him, and the door was guarded by Highgarden men led by Ser Garlan. Olenna took out a small glass vial, that held a thick purple liquid smelling of ash and lime. A slender dagger rested on the table.

"Do you know what that is?" She pointed at the glass.

"I confess that I am no Maester." Baelish said.

"It is the Strangler. You used this to kill Renly. Archmaester Ebrose told me in private. The Strangler is usually dissolved in wine but he assures me that a dagger would also work."

"Lady Olenna, I was nowhere near the castle." Baelish protested. The Queen of Thorns motioned her two guards forward. "Alright. Yes, I did use the Strangler. But Renly was of no use to anyone. With him alive but unconscious, nothing would change. The Tyrells would be stuck in the Reach, the wolves and lions would be fighting in the riverlands. I have helped you greatly."

"Don't pretend that you care about helping the Tyrells. I could tell Loras that you killed Renly. He would be happy to chop off your head." Olenna said.

"Why haven't you then?" Baelish asked.

"There are things to be bargained for. And I am curious - why did you do this? Why murder Renly - what is your interest in the matter?" Olenna asked.

"The Lannisters will reward me. They may grant me a great castle." Baelish said.

"Please. You have never cared about lands or knights. Your trade is gold, whores and secrets. Why do you want the Tyrells to ally with the Lannisters? Even if Stannis gained the Iron Throne, he could not ban your brothels." Olenna said.

"I will tell you but only in private." Baelish looked at the two giant guards. Olenna nodded and Arryk and Erryk stepped back. "I have long hated House Stark. When I was a boy, I was fostered at Riverrun and grew up with Catelyn Tully. She loved me and I loved her, but her father promised her to Brandon Stark. I challenged him for her hand and the Oaf of Winterfell nearly killed me."

"I have heard a different story. Brandon Stark offered you multiple chances to yield. Lady Catelyn begged for your life. Everyone knew that you had no chance against Brandon. Even in the Reach, we heard that he was a gifted swordsman." Olenna said.

"And yet he is dead and I am alive. And Ned Stark is dead. I want all the Starks and the Tullys beaten, except for my lost love." Baelish said.

"Catelyn Tully was married seventeen years ago and yet you still thirst for revenge against her sons and daughters?" The question hung in the air, unanswered. "Very well, but I want something as well. Otherwise House Tyrell refuses the alliance." Olenna said.

"I will grant you everything in my power. I swear it." Baelish said.

Olenna held up her hand and Arryk and Erryk left the room. She pointed to the Strangler. "I want Joffrey Baratheon dead. Tommen will be a better king for my granddaughter and the Tyrells."

"Of course, my lady." He nodded pensively to Olenna Tyrell. Deep down, Baelish beamed. Ten years ago, he had started his rise as the customs agent for Jon Arryn at Gulltown. Now, the final seeds had been sown. **It was the slow knife, the knife that takes its time, the knife that waits years without forgetting, then slips quietly between the bones. That was the knife that cuts deepest.** House Stark would be destroyed.

* * *

Owen Fossoway slipped into the room, full of great Lords and powerful landed knights. He hid behind the stout Mathis Rowan and saw the Tyrells enter. Petyr Baelish was not with them, and the room was sealed shut, with rows of guards outside. No servants were allowed - only the greatest of the highborn in the Reach.

Mace Tyrell beamed at the assembled Lords. "My daughter will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Lady Margaery is betrothed to King Joffrey, and the Iron Throne has promised many rewards to the Reach for our loyalty."

"But the Lannisters are losing." A voice shouted in the room.

Mathis Rowan spoke. "We have all heard about Lord Tywin's defeat. They say even now, a sennight later, the Trident is full of bodies and bleeds red from the blood of dead men." Owen wondered if Lord Rowan knew that the Red Fork had always been red from mud.

"Our forces outnumber the Northmen, and we are better armed." Mace said dismissively.

"That was true for Tywin Lannister's men and they were slaughtered." Jon Fossoway said.

Randyll Tarly snorted. "No kingdom is stronger than the Reach. We have more knights, soldiers and cavalry than any. The wolves will bend the knee when they see our might."

Ser Baelor stood up. The handsome knight was respected throughout the Reach. "I would not be so certain. House Hightower has not been involved with the Throne since the Dance. In that war, we supported the greens and Aegon the Second. Cregan Stark sent the Winter Wolves south under Roderick Dustin to fight for the blacks. In the first battle, the wolves charged Lannister spear men and forced them into the God's Eye where many drowned. In the second battle, they slaughtered Ser Criston Cole, the Hand of the King. And in the last battle, Northmen charged ten times their number and killed Lord Hightower."

"But the Winter Wolves never returned North. They were all slain in the Riverlands." Tarly said.

"Not before they killed many many men. Roderick Dustin was covered in blood from head to heel, and his shield arm was chopped off when he slew Ormund Hightower with his sword. I doubt these Northmen will be affrighted by any host." Baelor said.

"Ser Baelor, we appreciate your thoughts but we are aware of something that you are not." Lady Olenna said.

Ser Garlan stepped forth. "We have reports that Victarion Greyjoy has left Pyke with the Iron Fleet. He goes North to raid."

"So House Stark is under attack from the squids?" Mathis Rowan asked.

Mace Tyrell rubbed fat meaty hands in glee. "Aye. To save his lands, Robb Stark will have to return home. It's plain. The boy must gather his forces, abandon the riverlands, and throw his might North to repel the Greyjoys. That is what I would do."

There was a collective sigh as the lords realized that the Reach would win the Iron throne without much bloodshed. Only the pugnacious Randyll Tarly had been eager for battle. The men of the Reach preferred jousts and tournaments over fighting savages and wolves. And the less said about sorcery, weirwood trees, wargs, and blood magic, the better. The lords congratulated the new queen and pledged their fealty. After all, with fifty thousand fresh soldiers, a Lannister alliance, and the military mind of Randyll Tarly, what could possibly go wrong?

Owen Fossoway left the room quickly. He needed to send a raven to Jon Snow.

**Author's Notes**

_"The son is the shadow of the father."_ That actually comes from a Theon Greyjoy quote in one of a Reek chapters. (Dance of Dragons) Theon is not meeting Ramsay so I borrowed it.

The casualty rates of battles in the modern age are interesting and makes you wonder about death rates in ancient warfare. At Gettysburg, the South suffered 28,000 casualties but only 4,000 deaths. 19,000 are injured and 5,000 captured or missing. In contrast, in ancient battles, everybody dies. Is that because of the poor medical care or that after the battle, the victors would slaughter the losers? Why didn't they sell prisoners into slavery, like ancient Rome?

Do the other Lannister men bear guilt for the atrocities in the Riverlands? Probably, but a few express distaste for the actions. Lyle Crakehall has a rough sense of chivalry, just as Robb Stark was disgusted with Lord Karstark killing squires after Jaime was freed.

Even though Petyr Baelish is the Mockingbird, his great grandfather is a Braavosi sellsword. The Baelish sigil is actually the Titan of Braavos although Littlefinger wears the mockingbird. There is no connection to the Faceless Men - only that Baelish knows his poisons.

The Tybourne Triple Tree is a triangle gallows in London that was the most popular site for hangings. As many as 24 people could be hung at the same time. The gallows operated from 1571 to 1759, and people paid money for better seats. It is estimated that in 1724, two hundred thousand people. ⅓ of the population of London, turned up to see a highwayman hung.

The unnamed Mountain's Men are Chiswyck and the Tickler. The third is Polliver who stole Needle. Arya Stark snaps at the Inn at the Crossroads when Sandor Clegane fights the Mountain's Men. In the book, Arya stabs the Tickler at least four times, and probably a lot more. In the show, Arya kills a man with a backstab and then runs Polliver through the neck with Needle. These are good scenes but they come after the Red Wedding and more trauma for Arya. Here, the Mountain's Men are put down like dogs and Arya doesn't go nuts.

_"Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid, ever again."_ This is Arya's prayer to the Old Gods, in Clash of Kings when she is trapped at Harrenhal.

Jon brings a LOT of food to the Inn. A plow horse can pull 8000 pounds. The wagon is pulled by a team of such horses. I am not even sure what a round of bread is. I think it is an English term for two slices of a sandwich.

_Stannis has a personality of a lobster._ I am not sure if this is in the books, but Loras says it to Renly in the TV show. _The cow is already milked and the cream cannot be squirted back._ I think this is also a TV only quote. The Queen of Thorns has great lines.

In the show and the books, there is a great scene where Olenna orders the cheese plate and the Tyrells interrogate Sansa about Joffrey. In the books, Baelish proposes the betrothal but has servants spread tales of Joffrey's cruelty. I find that unrealistic. It is one thing for Ned Stark to not know about Joffrey's vicious nature. Ned Stark is politically clueless, the North is 1500 miles away and Joffrey is a year younger. The Reach though is much closer. Tumbleton, the northmost town on the Rose Road, is 170 miles from King's Landing. And Joffrey has chopped off Ned Stark's head, has a whole bunch of toadies, and beats Sansa publicly. How could Olenna Tyrell be oblivious to what Joffrey is?

Joffrey is a sadistic bastard but he actually makes a few good points. He is prone to bouts of anger but he has a certain low cunning. In the show, he argues the Throne should have its own royal forces. This actually is important historically. If you relied on levies from your nobles, they could only feed a few thousand men, and they had enormous influence. In some places like Scotland, powerful families controlled kings. But if the king had a monopoly on armed force, the game changes, and the armies could get much larger and more professional.

_Magic is a double edged sword. There is no safety when you grasp it._ One of the wildlings says something similar to this to Jon Snow. I forget which book.

Some readers will wonder why I don't focus on Theon's attempts to capture Winterfell. I think that plot line is unrealistic. Theon captures it with 40 men. Winterfell is several acres with walls of a hundred feet tall. Bran actually has a dream of Winterfell being drowned but Jojen Reed convinces him that his dream wouldn't change anything. Shades of Season 8! It always felt forced to me. In any case, the action and focus here is on Moat Cailin. Manderly men are at Winterfell - it is not falling to Theon and 40 men.

The numbers on the Iron Fleet are sketchy at best. GRRM said once that every Lord of the Iron Islands could launch 100 ships. At 50 men a ship, that is 5000 raiders. Even at 30 men a ship, that is 3000. In contrast, Roose Bolton has less than 3000 men - and the Bolton lands are larger than the Iron Islands, which are described as bare rock. Now, maybe the argument is every Ironborn is a fighter and trained warriors are only a fraction of the feudal world. But it doesn't pass the smell test. The advantage of Vikings was never numbers - it was speed and surprise derived from the longboats. Victarion is attacking the Neck. He is losing all of that, and can easily be harassed.

The love of Baelish for Catelyn Stark has always struck me as psychotic. (well written though!) We never get his POV (because GRRM says like Varys, he knows too much) but I read him as harboring a serious grudge against House Tully and Stark. Claiming you love Catelyn yet wanting all of her children destroyed is strange. And Littlefinger's perving over Sansa is creepy and strangely ineffectual. I think in the books, GRRM will use that to explain why Baelish is so blind to the fact that his plotting in Winterfell is obvious. Bran literally sees everything as the Three Eyed Raven.

_**It was the slow knife, the knife that takes its time, the knife that waits years without forgetting, then slips quietly between the bones. That's the knife that cuts deepest.** _This is the chapter title and spoken by Talia Al Ghul after she stabs Batman in The Dark Knight Rises. She is a great character and they could have done a lot more with her.

Mace Tyrell's words are very close to what he tells Joffrey's Small Council. This is after Theon claims to kill Rickon and Bran after sacking Winterfell. I believe he is the Master of Ships at this time. Of course, House Tyrell will learn that the Starks do not bend the knee easily. And Baelish wants chaos.

Readers can argue that the Tyrells should have just gone for the throne. March to King's Landing and take the city. The Lannisters are weak, the Starks don't care, and Stannis has no allies and somewhere between 6000 to 8000 men. Without factoring in politics, that would make sense. But legitimacy is a big deal in Westeros and the Tyrells have no claim at all.


	23. The Scouring

**The Scouring**

Arya Stark had grown up in the shadow of her sister, Sansa : a misfit and a lone wolf. She detested three things. She did not like being the center of attention, and many eyes stared at her that afternoon. She did not like being fussed over, and Lady Smallwood, Lady Blackwood, and Lady Whent cooed over her like a little bird. And she truly hated trying on clothes.

"Stay still, Arya." Jon said for the third time.

"Do I really need this?" she said.

"Yes." Her brothers replied, as three curious dire wolves looked on. The Wintertown boys handed the thin metal disks to Jon and he attached them to the plates already sewn into the red and gold silk doublet. In a looted wagon, Chett discovered the doublet along with a crimson silk blanket decorated with the lion of the Lannisters. Jon had ripped up the blanket for thread and an inner layer. "There. How does that feel?" Jon stepped back.

Needle rested on a table next to her lady Mother. Arya slipped into the first few movements of the Water Dance, her body sideface, legs bent, balanced on the tips of her toes, lunging first with the left and then the right. She stutter-stepped, extending her left hand forward from the diagonal position in a thrust, and glided with speed and grace. Catelyn groaned at the sight of Arya dancing lightly, like a water droplet across the surface of the Trident.

"I can barely feel the armor. It is so light." Arya said. She had once worn her father's brigandine, boiled leather riveted with iron plates. That was two name days ago but she could barely move. And she knew that a chain mail hauberk could weigh north of twenty pounds, and plate armor was even more cumbersome. The steel disks and plates made no sound as she danced.

"But it is strong enough to protect her?" Robb pointed to the doublet over her arms and torso.

"Yes. With the blast furnace, I experimented with different alloys. This one is lighter and cannot hold an edge, but it has high impact strength and force resistance. A crossbow at fifty feet could not penetrate the armor. The brigandine is strong enough to block an arrow, a dagger thrust or a sword, and the weight is well distributed. The doublet only weighs seven pounds."

"Why does she get the best gifts?" Robb complained. Arya smiled at the jest.

"That brigandine is difficult to make. We don't have much of that metal, and even less silk. The silk is strong and light. The disks have to be beaten thin, and fitted to the wearer." Jon said.

"The only problem, Arya, is that you look like a Lannister in crimson and gold. You need more gray and black." Robb said.

"I think Nymeria's presence is enough." Jon said. The dark gray she-wolf nodded haughtily.

"You look lovely, child. I just wish you did not need armor." Lady Smallwood said.

"I need it for battle. Can I go to the sparring yard?" After Jon nodded, she picked up Needle and dashed out of the tent. Nymeria followed her, and the ladies departed with Catelyn Stark in the other direction. Arya was too far to hear her brothers speak about battleplans.

* * *

That night, Arya sat inside her brother Jon's tent. She had spent most of the day sparring with Brienne, dancing around the tall woman. Needle could not penetrate the heavy blue steel plate, so even exhausted, the Maid of Tarth won. A large raven entered and lit on Jon's shoulder. Her brother spoke to Chett who rushed out.

"Arya, prepare the horses. We have to go." Jon said.

She joined dozens of squires outside. Little Ben Blackwood helped Karyl Vance don armor. Olyvar Frey brought out horses for Robb and many in his battle guard. The Blackfish was already mounted and urged Edmure Tully to hurry. Robb held up his hand to the dozen riverlords and even more Northmen. "Silence on the ride."

She galloped at Jon's side and the three dire wolves racing in the dark with Grey Wind at the lead. They took the River Road West, fifty men strong and heavily armed. Torches blazed at the Inn at the Crossroads, and smoke puffed from the white stone chimney. Arya reached hesitantly for Nymeria and she could smell from a mile away the scent of unwashed men and tired horses.

They surrounded the building on all sides, ignoring the laughter inside. Northmen and Rivermen guarded every window and exit, weapons ready, when the Greatjon pushed the door open. There were children at the Inn at the Crossroads but also a dozen men, a motley mixture - some brawny soldiers, a few lean archers, and some so young they could be squires. An older man, with a thin fox like face, stopped singing "Let Me Drink Your Beauty" on his woodharp.

The eyes of the band went to a hooded man speaking with Gendry. He turned and Arya could see his ghastly face. One of his eyes was gone, the flesh about the socket scarred and puckered, and the other side of the face had been bashed in. He wore a ragged black cloak speckled with stars and a dented iron breastplate bearing a forked purple lightning bolt.

A skinny redheaded men reached for his bow. "Touch any weapon and you will lose both of your hands. Surrender your arms." Jon said.

The man stood up and handed over a shield slashed by lightning and a dark longsword. He might have been dashing once, but now he looked like a scarecrow, soaked after a flood.

"The Young Wolf and the White Wolf. My men have done nothing wrong." he said.

"I will be the judge of that, Beric Dondarrion." Robb said.

* * *

Arya stood guard with Olyvar Frey and a few other squires. She doubted that was necessary. Ten prisoners, even Harwin who had once served as a Stark guard, were bound tightly in ropes. Nymeria, alone, could have killed them all. Only Beric Dondarrion and a thin man in red robes with a top knot of grey hair and a droopy face remained at liberty.

"How did you find us, Arry?" Hot Pie asked. "This bunch only came at sunset."

"Jon knew." Arya said.

Hot Pie gawked at her brother, his mouth agape. "Don't stare. You might attract his attention." Gendry said. Hot Pie gulped and scurried back to the kitchen. The other squires also turned their eyes away in fear.

Arya walked over to her brother. Jon was in a corner with the two sisters who stared down at the table. Pate rushed to get Arya a mug of water when she sat. Jeyne Heddle was on the verge of tears but Willow tried to keep her wits.

"I asked them when they expect the septon again." Jon said to Arya.

"He usually comes twice a moon but he came every sennight before the Battle of the Three Wolves." Willow said.

Jon explained to Arya. "The septon is a spy for Dondarrion. How else could children hold an inn for four moons? And how could any unarmed man deliver food on a donkey when Lannister men are around? When you came to the Inn, only Willow was here, but her older sister returned a few days later. Why would an innkeep travel?"

"He came twice when I was here. Septon Maribald - I should have known something was strange." Arya said.

Jon shrugged. "You were tired and hungry."

"My Lord, what will happen to us now?" Willow asked, trying not to cry.

"We need to see what Dondarrion says. Come, Arya." They left the two frightened Heddles, clutching each other for comfort.

* * *

"And what should be done with your merry band?" Robb said.

"Lord Stark, they are a bunch of bandits and deserters." Stevron Frey snorted.

"We are brothers here, sworn to the realm." the red robed man said.

"Aye." The singer chimed in. "The brotherhood without banners. The knights of the hollow hill."

The man that had once been Beric Dondarrion smiled sadly. "My Lord, we are kingsmen still. Your father, Ned Stark and Hand of the King, charged us with bringing justice to the Mountain. Six score men led by a fool in a starry cloak were ambushed at Mummer's Ford. But we still fight to protect the Riverlands for Robert Baratheon."

"Robert is not the king. He has been dead a year." Robb said.

"But we still serve his cause. Justice for the realm." The scarecrow said.

"You are brigands and broken men. Who have you fought?" Brynden Tully said.

"We bled the goat and the dog. We bloodied them near Harrenhal." the archer yelled.

"Not very many. Clegane had a thousand men at the Red Fork." the Blackfish replied.

"Where are the rest of your men, Lord Beric? And how many are they?" Jon asked.

Before the Lightning Lord could answer, the thin man in red gasped. "I have seen your face, my Lord. I have seen you before."

"They say I resemble my father, Lord Stark." Jon replied.

"No. I have seen you in the fires, in R'hllor's visions." All the eyes in the inn, from the Heddles to the Riverlords to the orphans to the Northmen were on the ardent red priest. "I saw you in a great battle, surrounded by the dead and the dying. You are Azor Ahai, reborn, and Death will bend the knee before you."

Thoros of Myr knelt down and Beric Dondarrion followed. Arya looked at the annoyed face of her brother Jon. He did not seem pleased by the men at his feet.

* * *

The Starks huddled together out of the prying eyes of the entire inn. The Blackfish and Edmure attended, and the Greatjon, by dint of size and bulk, was the only Northmen who managed to squeeze into the small room. After the declaration that Jon was Azor Ahai reborn, the red priest had babbled on about the legend of the Lightbringer and dragons, although Arya did not know whether that was a man or the sword. Anyone who killed his wife to make a sword was a fool. Her brother would never do such a thing.

"What do you make of all this?" Robb asked.

"Perhaps it is all a mummer's farce to save his neck." the Blackfish said. Edmure Tully nodded.

"I have never heard of this before today. I have read of Azor Ahai, of course - in Votar's **Jade Compendium**. It is similar to the legend of the Prince Who Was Promised and the Last Hero of the First Men. They defeated the Others eight thousand years past. But who is to say what happened so long ago?" Jon said.

"One legend I might believe but the red priest says three. Could you be the subject of three prophecies, Jon?" Robb said, half jesting but half in wonder.

"Thoros says that I am the Prince who was Promised, born amidst salt and smoke under a bleeding star. I don't even know my mother's name. Next he claims that I will deliver the world from darkness and bring a summer that never ends. And last, he swears that the Lord of Light has sent visions of dragons and that the dragon must have three heads." Jon said.

"Why would a dragon need three heads?" Edmure asked.

"The Conquest had three dragons. Aegon and his two wives were all dragonriders." Arya said.

"Arya, I don't think Jon has been hiding a dragon. If he had one, he would have sent it against the Lannister knights when they charged." Robb said.

"The Red Priestess at the Stormlands - what did she say about Stannis?" Jon asked.

"Melisandre said that Stannis was the Lord of Light's chosen - born amidst salt and smoke. And Renly said that Stannis had a flaming sword." Robb said.

"This does not matter. Dreams may have power but prophecies are not to be trusted. Perhaps Thoros sees a vision while another Red Priest sees another. Who can say what is right? And whether I am Azor Ahai or not, we must defeat our enemies in battle." Jon said.

"Maester Snow is right. We need swords, not dreams." the Blackfish said.

They walked outside into the common room and the chatter immediately died. Her two brothers spoke briefly and then the Lord of Winterfell stepped forth.

"Lord Beric, these are the terms I will give you. Your men have three choices. They can disperse, and go back to their homes. They can swear an oath to a lord and those vows must be honored. Or they can hang. There will be no more banditry in the Riverlands." Robb said.

"What about the Mountain's Men?" A big man in a yellow cloak cried.

"I butchered most of them across the Red Fork. I hung the rest two days ago." Jon said.

Beric Dondarrion stood up from his chair. "I accept your terms, Lord Stark." He turned to Jon Snow. "Lord Snow, I pledge my sword and service to you." Thoros and the other ten, even tied in ropes, attempted the same. Her brother Jon groaned.

* * *

The knock came as Tyrion read the message from Petyr Baelish. Littlefinger had succeeded but at the high price. The Hand of the King, two Small Council seats, two members of the Kingsguard, the Commander of the City Watch, and Sansa Stark. In return, the Tyrells would send forty thousand men north with Lady Margaery and Mace Tyrell. Just as importantly, they would open the Rose Road again to wagons of food. The fear of the Northmen remained but at least the famine would end.

"Podrick, I am not to be disturbed." Tyrion called.

The door opened and a tall man with long copper hair walked through. He wore a plain gray cloak and black mail and not the burnished bronze armor of House Marbrand. Ser Addam was the heir to Ashemark, and one of the best knights in Lannister service. He was a good leader, an excellent horseman and swordsman, a childhood friend of Jaime, and one of the few nobles who had always treated him with courtesy. "Tyrion."

"Ser Addam. I am glad that you are alive and free." Tyrion said.

"It was not easy. The Bloody Wolf is well named. Your father is here." Addam said.

Tyrion took the dozen letters off the desk and walked to the Small Hall. Tywin Lannister sat in the Small Hall. His pale green eyes flecked with gold still glared proudly but garbed in plain dark robes and accompanied by only one man, the Great Lion of the Rock had lost his claws. Still, Podrick quivered with fear and Tyrion's guardsmen stood at attention. The squire rushed to pour a bottle of Arbor Gold only to be stopped by a hard stare.

"Father, I am pleased to see you alive. The black looks good - like you have joined the Night's Watch and mean to travel beyond the Wall.' Tyrion said.

"Enough of your japes." Tywin pointed at the letters. "Give me the news." And he did.

He waited quietly while Tywin digested the details. His father did not like to be disturbed when thinking. "Who accompanied Myrcella to Dorne?"

"Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Balon Swann. Even the Dornish will respect a princess escorted by two members of the Kingsguard." Tyrion said.

"How did Balon Swann get a White Cloak?" Tywin said.

"There was a riot in King's Landing. The smallfolk threw shit at the Joffrey's chariot. He ordered Sandor Clegane and the other guards to kill the offender. In the chaos, the High Septon and Ser Preston Greenfield were hacked to death. Ser Jacelyn Bywater cleared the streets with a wedge of mounted lancers. He may have saved Tyrek's life." Tyrion said.

"See to it that he is rewarded." Tywin said.

"Already done. I gave him a small keep near Blackwater Rush." Tyrion said.

His father nodded. Another knock, in an odd three beat pattern, rang on the door. Ser Addam walked through with his sister, dressed in rich raiment, gold lions on crimson silk. Cersei could not be bothered with cloaks or disguises. The Spider would know before nightfall who she met in the Tower, if he did not already. Ser Addam joined them at the table.

"Father, I will have rooms prepared for you in the Red Keep." Cersei said.

"No, I must return to our men. We need to rally the remaining troops, and make certain they do not desert. They cannot hear that I fled to King's Landing." Tywin said brusquely.

But you did flee to King's Landing, Tyrion thought. His father had always cast a great shadow, the destroyer of House Reyne and Tarbeck. Tywin Lannister was a lion among lions, who could impose his iron will on his bannermen and even the great houses of Westeros. But he had failed at the Red Fork, defeated by two Stark boys. The shadow had faded.

"How many men are left in the army?" Cersei asked.

"We are camped at Rosby. We lost the supply train and need to replenish. We have 9,000 men still. But many are injured and some will die. Thousands more are missing - we do not know if they are dead, prisoners, or deserters." Ser Addam said.

"But what if the wolves come South on the Kingsroad? Joffrey will command the army return to King's Landing to defend the Throne." Cersei said.

Tywin scoffed. "Command me? I am saving Joffrey's throne, undeserved that may be. We have friends hidden among the Starks. Men from the Twins have gone North. Men from White Harbour have gone to Winterfell."

Tyrion realized the implications in a flash. "The Greyjoys have attacked the North."

"Theon Greyjoy escaped to the Iron Islands. The North has few defenses, and no ports on the Western side. Robb Stark will need to deal with the raiders." Tywin said.

"If his forces are split, then we can attack. With the Tyrell forces, we can crush the Starks and the Rivermen." Cersei said.

Tywin looked at his daughter with a coolness bordering on frost. "No, we will treat with the Starks. We will make peace, bitter though that may be."

"But Father…" Cersei said

"Have you forgotten your lessons? What is the most important source of power?" Tywin said.

Tyrion waited for a bit before answering. "Armies."

A brief flash of approval passed over his father's face before disappearing into a mask. "Power comes from swords and spears. And men who are willing to fight and die. The North has those men, and they are well led. We have nine thousand men. Jon Snow has cut off reinforcements and supplies from the West. If we settle with the Starks, we can raise a new army."

"But by then, the Starks will return North. And Snow has forced captured prisoners to swear they will not attack the North or the Riverlands." Tyrion said.

"Vows can be broken. But more important is the number of men. How many swords do the Tyrells have? Fifty Thousand. We have nine thousand. Mace Tyrell may be a dolt, but with five times our number, the roses will control the city. We cannot afford to lose more men fighting against the Starks. We must raise more men and horses. If the Tooth was free, men from Sarsfield, Kayce, and Feastfires could march West on the goldroad." Tywin said.

"I have sent banners in the name of the King to Stokeworth, Middleton, Hayford, Dun Fort and Duskendale." Tyrion said.

"The betrothal is necessary. But the news should be kept secret until their army leaves the Reach." Tywin said.

"But why Father? The news of an alliance will calm the city down." Cersei said.

"The silence isn't for King's Landing. It is to make sure the Starks do not hear so that we can take them by surprise with the size of our forces." Tyrion said.

Tywin acknowledged him briefly before turning to Cersei. "The death of Ned Stark was a witless blunder. You will keep Joffrey on a leash. If he were to hurt Sansa Stark, the wolves will never retreat. And if they attack King's Landing, and the Tyrells turn on us, we will lose the city."

"I have tried, Father, but he has become harder to control." Cersei said.

Tywin spoke in a low voice. "Rein him in. He will not harm House Lannister again."

Before Cersei could declare Joffrey's loyalty, Lord Tywin and Ser Addam left. Tyrion offered his sister a glass of Dornish red but she stomped off. Another fine Lannister family meeting. And his father wondered why he drank. Tyrion doubled again the guards on Sansa Stark.

* * *

Five hundred miles away, Jaime Lannister looked at the strange circles of black and white meat on his trencher. Riverrun celebrated Robb Stark's latest victory with two days of feasting although the details were still murky. A third dire wolf had surfaced North of the Trident, and Jon Snow commanded wolves and ravens to slay Lannister knights. Jaime had never believed in magic or prophecies, but an entire army of beasts was hard to dismiss. He wondered whether these powers explained the defeats at the Whispering Wood or Oxcross.

"What is this shite?" Jaime loudly called.

"It is food, Kingslayer. And far better than you deserve." Ser Robin Ryger said.

His uncle Kevan gave him a reproachful look. Janei, sitting on her mother's lap, stared at Jaime, and Martyn and Willem giggled. Jaime shrugged and smirked at his cousins. He took a bite of the black pudding, made of cow's blood, suet, oatmeal and onions. The black circle looked like darkened dung but it was meaty and heavier than sausage. He cut a slice of the white pudding, less salty and more creamy. Jaime washed his food down with watered down ale.

Ser Ryger, the captain of the Tully guards, spoke truthfully. In the hall of the small keep, the squires and Western Lords ate better than any could hope. Jaime had seen the Black Cells in King's Landing - windowless, with only dirty straw for a bed, and not even a bucket to shit in. When he was captured at the Whispering Wood, Jaime expected to spend the next few moons, covered in shit and piss and half starved, until his father ransomed him.

Jaime wondered again what Snow was thinking. The Westermen knew that Robb Stark had given his brother full authority over prisoners. Many times, Tully men reminded the captives of the White Wolf's brutality at Oxcross, the Golden Tooth, and even at the Red Fork. But Snow had done nothing to the squires and knights at Riverrun. And the smallfolk had been released to the West. Jaime chewed the sausage, ignoring the faint tang of blood.

"Ser Kevan." The boy was garbed in grey and black, homespun wool and leather, like many of the Wintertown crew. But he was tall and fair with sandy gold hair and green eyes. Jaime looked more closely. The eyes were emerald green and flecked with gold, like a Lannister.

The boy handed Kevan a scroll. Jaime's uncle opened it and gave a sigh of relief. Ser Robin stepped near and read the note. "We will take care of this, Ser. Your wife and daughter will leave Riverrun on the morrow. I will send my own squire, Myles, and six guards to make certain they get to the Tooth safely." Ser Robin said.

"I thank you, Ser." Kevan said. He took his wife's hand and smiled at Janei before turning to the tall blond boy. "Were you at the battle?"

"Aye, my Lord." The boy flushed brightly, happy to share the tale. "It was a hard fight. I stood with the White Wolf north of the Red Fork. We turned back the Mountain's men easily enough but the van of heavy cavalry was much fiercer."

"Who led the van?" the booming voice of Lord Crakehall called out.

"A knight with a burning tree sigil rode in the front. But there were thousands of brave men."

Ser Addam Marbrand, Jaime thought. He hoped his friend was alive.

"How did the North win? Lord Tywin had more men and knights." Tybolt Marbrand asked.

"Lord Tywin had to cross the Trident to return West. Maester Snow built an enormous wall to defend the north side of the Red Fork - two miles long and ten feet high. We fought from atop the wall over ground bursting with trenches, ditches, pits and traps. Until that battle, I could never have imagined such a field of death." the boy said.

"And did Snow summon wolves and ravens? Ser Kevan asked warily.

"I do not know, my Lord. There were wolves and ravens. But how they came, only the maester can say. Another dire wolf joined Ghost in the battle and fought off several hounds. The wall nearly fell. There was blood everywhere. We were close to being overwhelmed. But Jon Snow won. He threw back everything Lord Tywin could send." The boy smiled proudly.

Jaime had seen that look before. It was reckless and bold - just like his younger uncles speaking back to his lord father. Both Tygett and Gerion were kind to Jaime and Tyrion but had strained ties with their head of House. "What is your name, boy?" Jaime said.

"Gerry, my Lord." The boy bowed, and then walked away.

Jaime tried to follow but Ser Robin Ryger and Tully guards stopped him. Before they did, he could see waiting outside the door, a slender woman with long dark hair, green brown eyes, and a broad smile when she embraced her son. He had not seen her in thirteen years. Tysha, the crofter's daughter. Suddenly, Jaime knew why Gerry looked so very fair and green eyed.

* * *

He woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread. At the Inn of the Crossroads, kitchen boys, their ranks swelled by new recruits, worked at all hours, baking, boiling, roasting, braising, smoking, salting and frying all sorts of victuals. Much went to feed the soldiers but some shared with the starving smallfolk, as wagons of cooked food and raw supplies were sent to nearby villages and holdfasts. Bread was the staple - a simple, dense bread called hardtack, made of flour, water and salt. Baked several times, hardtack was dry, tasteless, and lasted a long time. The bread was dunked in water or ale, fried in oil, or pounded into crumbs and eaten with soup.

Jon heard Arya's laughter outside the tent as she played with Nymeria. Ghost stood vigilant, guarding the tent door. He drank a cup of water, and poured the rest into a basin to wash.

"Jon." Arya saw his haggard face. "Are you….."

"I have bad dreams, sister." He said as he continued to wash.

She bit her lip. "Is it because of all that rubbish about Azor Ahai? Gendry says he met Thoros in King's Landing, and the priest was a glutton and a sot."

Jon chuckled. "I worry about many things, Arya. But not the prophecies of the Lord of Light."

"But Thoros has strange powers. They say he has raised Beric Dondarrion from death four times." Arya said.

"I don't doubt that magic exists or that prophecies may be true. But they are hard to understand. Daenys Targaryen dreamed of the destruction of Valyria twelve years before the Doom. We cannot stop everything for a priest's visions. I cannot be this Prince who was Promised if I fall in battle to our enemies." Jon said.

"Thoros's tale of Azor Ahai is spreading in the camp." Arya said.

Jon shrugged. "Words do not win wars. Come - we have things to do."

* * *

They walked around that morning with the dire wolves. The roads that met at the Inn at the Crossroads swarmed with wagons pulled by plow horses. Off the main roads, horses grazed on the grass, and men sharpened weapons and waited for orders. The ferry landing at the Inn had been restored, and several boats were tied up, and the boys hard at work fixing sails and oars. Barrels of thick black pine tar sat on the docks, the bitter smell drifting North with the wind.

Next to the Inn, an open field had been cleared of horses and tents. Even early in the morning, men drilled under the one eye of Beric Dondarrion. On the ground, there were spears - 17 feet in length, cut from stakes scavenged from the fortifications built North of the Red Fork. Each pike had a broad steel leaf head reinforced with metal strip and a bronze butt-spike to balance the weight. The pike was held in both hands, and soldiers practiced marching ten abreast, in several rows. The first rank kept their pikes low and ready to defend against a charging horse, the spike anchored to the ground. The next three ranks held their pikes level at the shoulder to deliver thrusts. Behind them, six ranks of pikes stabbed straight up in the air.

Not all the men came from the Brotherhoods without Banners. Only a few dozen swore fealty to the Lightning Lord. Some were soldiers, defeated in previous battles, or deserters. Many were smallfolk who fled their homes and hoped for food to eat and a place to stay. And quite a few had been loyal to landed knights or minor lords whose houses were now extinguished in the male line by the Lannisters - Wode, Cox, Penny, Hawick, and many more. Even Lady Whent's few soldiers were in the mix, their captain Ser Willis Wode having been slaughtered by the Mountain. There were four hundred men already, and more coming every day.

Jon was not certain whether they joined him to seek redemption or to find safety in numbers. Or from fear that he would hang them all. They were a motley crew with an odd mix of weapons and armor. Hence, the constant drills with the pike. He would train them to fight in a disciplined formation, to march without losing cohesion, and to attack as one unit. Pikemen needed to stay close together for support but not crowd each other.

"Lord Snow, the men have no shields. How will they face archers?" Beric asked.

On the sidelines, smallfolk and soldiers watched as the men drilled and marched. Highborns, including Lady Whent and Lady Smallwood, were present as well, and other companies of men waited for their turn to practice with the pikes. Jon's voice carried over the field. "They will not need a shield. If they train well, I will give them armor. A heavy steel helmet, with a wide brim, a steel breastplate, and greaves to cover their legs." That was far better protection than most of the men in the army could claim.

"Should I learn how to train with a pike, Ser?" The boy had pale blond hair, and dark blue, almost purple, eyes. A name day older than Arya, Edric Dayne was shy and polite. Jon had spent little time with the Lord Beric's squire but the boy had courage. He pulled the dying Dondarrion out of a river, and stood guard over the body during a battle with the Mountain.

"The pike is not a weapons for squires. It weighs 12 pounds and must be carried at all times with both hands marching and in battle." Jon said.

"But Lord Snow, we wish to fight with you." An orphan from the inn cried. Jon wasn't sure if the boy was named Pate, Wat, or Elmo. There was at least half a dozen Pates running about in the camp, and many more Wats and Elmos.

"It is not safe. It would be better if you stayed away from battle." Jon said.

"My Lord, nowhere in the Riverlands is safe. My father, mother, aunts and uncles were all killed at Wendish Town." Jon Penny said and the other boys nodded. "If we fight with you, we have a chance. We may not be as clever as your Winter Town boys but let us join you."

Jon sighed. "I do not want any of you in danger. You will not fight in battle but you can help the men." He pointed to the formation, a square ten files wide and ten ranks deep. "In battle, men get confused. If you play music, the pikemen can march in order and stay in a line."

"Music, sir? Like a woodharp?" The boy who he thought was Pate asked.

"Harps? We are not looking for silly love songs." Jon scoffed. "No, a drum. You would beat a drum to keep marching in step. And you would have to learn other signals. To stop, to go forward, to attack. You would learn how to send signals on the battlefield."

The orphan boys glowed with excitement, and Jon sent them off to get drums made. He kept Arya and Edric close. Like his sister, Edric was a skilled rider. He would prefer them mounted in any battle. Jon did not like the idea of boys the age of Arya in battle. But if the pike formation broke down and routed, all the footmen would be killed by cavalry. In war, sometimes the only good choice was still a bad one.

* * *

The cacophony of drumming outside Jon's tent stopped suddenly. The flap opened and Grey Wind entered first followed by a grim Robb Stark. Jon stood up, leaving the letter to Lady Mormont at the Golden Tooth unfinished. Robb signalled for Arya to follow, and the three proceeded to the main tent. Several Riverlords stood outside and gave their sympathies to Robb in passing. The Blackfish was comforting his niece and nephew inside.

"Hoster Tully has passed." Robb said. "We received a raven from Riverrun this afternoon."

"Lysa never visited. And now he has passed." Catelyn said. Hoster Tully had been dying for many moons. The silence from the Vale was telling and boded poorly for Ser Robar's mission.

"The Rivermen will need to return to see to the Funeral. Hoster will sail down the Red Fork one last time to sink into the Trident. Many of the bannermen will return to Riverrun. Lord Mallister, Blackwood, Bracken, Piper, and Vance will set the boat adrift and Edmure, as the new Lord Tully, will shoot the arrow to set the sails on fire." Brynden said.

"I am sorry to hear, uncle, and I will release your bannermen today." Robb said.

"But Robb, won't you attend as well?" Catelyn said.

"Mother, I have a war to fight. I can best honor Lord Tully by freeing the Riverlands. Harrenhal is still in the hands of the Lannisters. We do not control the fields south of Harroway." Robb said.

"But Robb, you are the Heir to Riverrun until Edmure has children." Catelyn said.

"I am a Stark. My place is at Winterfell. Riverrun is for the Tullys." Robb said.

"Cat, we should go. Hoster's liegemen are outside and will want to speak. Your son has the right of it. Your father was happy when the siege of Riverrun was broken. He will smile more from his watery grave if the invaders are driven from all of the riverlands." Brynden said.

Catelyn hesitated, and looked at Arya. She retreated between her two brothers and had no intention of leaving their side or Nymeria. Lady Stark bowed her head and left with the Tullys.

* * *

Robb waited, and then signalled to his squire to make certain he was not disturbed. The Stark guards retreated, and the dire wolves guarded the tent. The brothers huddled over the map.

"I will leave tonight. After the Tullys depart with the Rivermen." Robb said.

"Are you certain? I could go in your stead. The North looks to you for leadership, and your last trip to the Reach took a moon's time." Jon said.

Robb shook his head. "Jon, when I am gone, you have command. And you need to train these new men anyway. Besides, if we siege Harrenhal, you must deploy the artillery."

Arya glared at her brothers with great annoyance. "What are you two talking about?"

Jon raised his head. "The Neck is five hundred miles away from here on the King's Road."

"I remember. It took over a moon to come down from Moat Cailin with the king,"

"But Jon noticed something. The Green Fork runs from the crossroads to Greywater Watch. With winds blowing north, and strong rowers, a boat can travel it in four days. It is less than a hundred miles from there to Moat Cailin and the Fever River." Robb said.

"But that is all swamps and bogs." Arya said.

"Yes, but the crannogmen know how to travel in bogs. They can go faster in their little boats than the ironborn can cross on foot. Father said House Reed knows the Neck better than anyone." Robb said.

"You mean to go North and ambush them. That is why the dock was repaired and Jon's crew fixed the ships." Arya said.

"Actually I meant to go North. But Robb decided he would lead the men." Jon complained.

"Only one of us can leave. And I am the Lord of Winterfell. The IronBorn wish to capture Moat Cailin so they can raid my bannermen with impunity. I am going to stop them. I will burn Victaron Greyjoy's ship and see how squids fare in a swamp." Robb said.

"But you don't have many men." Arya quickly made the connections. "The pitch - those barrels of tar on the docks. You are going to use them to set the longships on fire.

Robb nodded. "I plan to take Manderly, Umbers, and Flints. The Flints know the Neck well, the Manderlys are sailors, and the Umbers - well they enjoy killing squids."

"But you are not telling the Rivermen?" Arya asked.

"The Greyjoys are attacking the North, and I will pay the iron price at Moat Cailin. I want the mission to be secret, and not a hint, until we are ready to burn the ships." Robb said. "Jon has an equally important task. He needs to go South, and take Harrenhal. It is a strong castle, and we need to make certain the Lannisters cannot return."

"Plus, the sellswords operated from Harrenhal. The area near the God's Eye was pillaged worse than the rest of the Riverlands and that is saying a great deal." Jon said.

"The septs south of Harroway have all been looted and the men and women killed or worse. This Vargo Hoat is a torturer. His men are scum, just like Clegane's creatures." Robb said.

"Tywin Lannister does not care. He is happy to employ monsters. The only thing that matters to him is the glory of House Lannister." Arya said.

"Then make Tywin pay. Take the castle, Jon." Robb said.

"Alright, be careful, Stark. No fighting shadow assassins with only a dagger." Jon jested.

"Grey Wind will be with me. And Arya, listen to Jon. Be safe, sister. I will see both of you soon." Robb embraced his siblings. He would do so again after nightfall, when he left with three ships, loaded with a hundred men and many barrels of pitch and tar.

* * *

Arya Stark tried her best not to go numb as the army marched down to Harrenhal. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The land was gentle here, rolling hills and terraced fields interspersed with meadows, woodlands and shallow streams. She remembered hiding, running, and the smell of burning. When she stumbled around the Riverlands with Yoren and after he died, every place smelled of fire. Farms, villages, castles, septs, barns, inns. It did not matter. If it burned, the Lannisters had burnt it.

Since yesterday afternoon, the Northern army, divided into two columns of infantry supported by cavalry, marched from the Inn at the crossroads south. One column had gone on the Kings Road, to control the border with the crownlands. Those men would turn right and meet them at the castle. The second headed directly for Harrenhal and included the new recruits. Her brother oversaw the pike squares, trying to march in tune to boys banging loud drums. The army was in fine spirits, laughing and jesting, boasting about their battle prowess.

As the army passed, wisps of pale smoke emerged at villages, holdfasts and keeps. Children, some shy, many wary, emerged from hills and forests and were given food and drink. Corpses were buried, walls rebuilt, and gates fixed. Life slowly returned to the Riverlands. Merchants and tinkerers travelled the roads, and farmers tried their best to get one last harvest before winter.

Arya bit her lip. When she had been lost with Gendry and Hot Pie, no one had helped. The smallfolk, the highborn - they had all cowered and fled before the lion. No traveller shared a fire, and no place of safety was offered.

"You look thoughtful, little wolf." Dacey rode next to her, in plate and with morningstar ready. Many of Robb's battle guard went North on the Trident, but Mormont heir, Eddard Karstark, and Smalljon Umber stayed south. Dacey was no water dancer but she gave Arya tips on fighting.

"When the Lannisters were raiding and killing - where were they? All these people?" Arya said.

"Are you asking why the villagers didn't fight? Or why you did not?" Dacey said.

"I know it is not fair. But where were the men? Couldn't they have fought? Or helped me?"

"Do you know what the women on Bear Island are famous for?" Dacey said.

"Beating back raids. You won the tourney at Riverrun and defeated a Harlaw and a Lannister knight on the final day." Arya said.

"Men fish, and women fight attacks from Ironborn and wildlings. But the largest raid I ever saw was Lord Drumm with five longships and one hundred fifty men. We hurled them back to his shithole island. But what if it was the whole Iron Fleet? What if ten thousand raiders landed at Bear Island?" Dacey said.

"You would have to retreat into the forest or hide behind your walls." Arya said.

"These villagers had to flee. You cannot expect them to be brave against such odds. Only heroes are that way. Your father would never stop fighting to defend the North. And his sons, Robb and Jon, are cut from the same cloth. You will be, too, Little Wolf." Dacey said.

"The Smalljon says at the Red Fork, the North defeated four times their number." Arya said.

"The Smalljon can barely count." Dacey snorted. "But yes, your brothers are unbeaten in the field, and the men know that. That is why the smallfolk have returned."

The horses stopped and Arya saw a cloud of dust coming from the West. A horde of men were marching to meet them. It was too early for the second column on the kingsroad to rejoin the main force. Dacey urged her horse over and Arya followed. Jon waited on a hill with Ghost under the banner of the white wolf.

Ragged men and torn banners approached. A few well armed knights on horses were at the front but the rest looked like a peasant militia. Most were dirty men in simple brown clothes, armed with cudgels and axes. A few had carved a seven pointed star into their foreheads. There were children with scraped shins and curious eyes.

"Jon Snow." A man with six white stars on a purple field asked.

Her brother nodded. "And who are you?"

"Ser Raymund Mallery. Word has spread that you mean to attack Harrenhal. We would join you. We want revenge for what these bastards have done to our lands." the knight said.

"Mallery? Isn't that a house in the Crownlands?" Jon said.

"Aye. The Mountain's Men killed Lord Lothar at Mummer's Ford. But since they have raided our lands. The one who led the soldiers had a manticore on his shield and slaughtered our chickens and sheep, and tried to burn us out of my lady's tower." he said.

"And do you command these other men?" Jon asked.

A man in threadbare robes belted with a hempen rope stepped forward. "No, my Lord. I am from the sept nearby that was burnt down. The brothers that survived have come with me. There are villagers whose fields were ruined, and other smallfolk from around the God's Eye."

Arya waited as her brother examined them carefully. Only a few rode horses. Most were barefoot with no armor. "How exactly did you expect to get your revenge?" Jon asked.

"What do you mean?" Ser Raymund said.

"Harrenhal is a castle. You have no ladders, grappling hooks, or any way to climb the walls. You have no siege equipment." Jon said.

A burly man with a hammer pushed to the front. "We heard you was coming. And that you are good at killing."

Jon held his hand. "I am going to capture Harrenhal. But if you want to come, you must obey my orders. I will restore order in the Riverlands, and that means there is one voice. I speak for Robb Stark and the army. There will be no banditry, no dissent. You will follow my orders or hang."

The knights, the men of faith, and the villagers agreed. Arya crept closer to her brother. "Do you trust these people, Jon? They might be spies for the Lannisters, or worse - Vargo Hoat."

Jon chuckled. "I don't trust anyone, Arya. Well, you and Robb. Stay close to me sister."

* * *

The three ships docked at Greywater Watch and Robb Stark greeted Howland Reed. The crannogmen escorted them to a small but cozy hall. The taller Northmen had to crouch so that their heads did not hit the low roof.

"Lord Stark, my sympathy for your loss. Your father Ned was a good man." Lord Reed said.

"Thank you, my Lord." Robb handed over a leather tube. The men gathered closer to examine the diagrams on the scroll.

"What is that thing?" The Greatjon said.

"It is Jon's design. He calls it a hellburner. You create a fire chamber on the ship with a floor and a roof. The pitch is packed into the chamber, and covered with kindling and coal. These long wood plugs are hollow, and full of wax. Jon says if you light one side, you have enough time to run a thousand paces before the inner side lights and explodes." Robb said.

"So, this is a fireship. But the ironborn won't think much of it because it will seem like a regular canoe." Howland said.

"Aye, it seems only a small flame, but when the pitch is lit, everything explodes. Jon believes it should blow a hole in the hull of a longship. He also gave me these." Robb took out two earthen pots that were sealed. A bit of white dust could be seen on the outside.

"And what are those?" Howland asked.

"I do not know. Jon discovered this when he was using limestone in the blast furnace. He says that when the pot shatters and this dust meets with water, a cloud of smoke rises that causes blindness and burns." Robb said. "I plan to throw this at Victarion Greyjoy."

Murmurs of sorcery and magic could be heard in the hall. Robb ignored the comments and waited for Lord Reed's reply.

"The ships are still in the Fever River. Arkady Boggs, my best scout, sent a message. Men from the Barrows and the Rills have attacked from the North, and slowed the fleet down." Reed said.

"Have you seen the flag ship?" Robb said.

"The Iron Victory is the largest vessel. The sail has a golden kraken on a black field. Victarion Greyjoy will captain that ship with the best fighters of the iron fleet. Give me two days to transport you and prepare the fireships. We will attack then." Howland said.

* * *

They could see the twisted five towers of Harren's Folly on the horizon, and the pewter water of the God's Eye beyond. The blue and green water had turned into cold steel. Winter was coming, and the black swans and other birds had disappeared. The host had slowed down, waiting for siege machines, wagons and the second column to catch up. The cavalry scouted the lake, checking the abandoned settlements to make certain there were no hidden Lannister soldiers.

Arya sat at the fire next to Gendry, squires, and the Winter Town boys. Nymeria had gone off to hunt with Ghost. Jon was in his tent, meeting with Gerrion and Satin who had returned from Riverrun. Lord Beric and Thoros was on patrol, and Northmen sharpened and checked their weapons, preparing for battle. The town outside the walls had been burnt to blackened stone. That was where the Lannister army had camped while Arya was trapped in the castle.

"Do you think the Bloody Wolf will use the ballistas to destroy the walls?" a boy asked. The weakest curtain wall at the castle was fifteen feet thick. The towers rose over one hundred and fifty feet tall. There were pits in the castle thirty feet deep. Harrenhal might be cursed but it was monstrously hard to take, and her brother did not have dragons.

"I hear that Snow might turn into a giant raven, and fly over the walls." Pate said. Arya hoped that the boy could at least keep a tune drumming. Thinking was not his strong suit.

"Lady Arya, will you give me your favour?" Edric said. "This will be my first true battle."

Gendry snorted. "You have been with the Brotherhood for months. How did you not manage to do any fighting?"

"Leave the boy alone. We have been in skirmishes. Ned hasn't fought but he saved Ser Beric's body and guarded the horses." Harwin said.

"Right. Without Ned, we might have all died against the Mountain." Alyn said. Alyn was another Winterfell guard who joined the Brotherhood after being ambushed. He was sweet on Jeyne Heddle who had nursed him back to health after Mummer's Ford. Arya did not understand how men, even her brother Robb, were such fools over nurses.

"It will be a hard battle. Sieges are never easy." Tom of Sevenstreams said.

"How would you know? You have never been in one." A man with a green beard hooted.

"I will challenge Vargo Hoat in single battle. They will call me the Goatslayer" a man cried out.

"You are more likely to be a goatfucker." Greenbeard retorted.

Arya was tired of all these fools. Even Lady Whent would be better company and she was always crying over how her men and servants were killed by the Lannisters. As Arya got up to leave, the She-Bear rode into the camp.

"Where is Lord Snow?" Dacey said. "The Lannister banners have been struck from Harrenhal. There are bodies that have been thrown from the walls, and signs of battle."

Arya took Dacey to Jon, and Eddard Karstark, Smalljon Umber, and many other commanders followed. Squires raced to get horses readied, and men raced to don their armor.

* * *

Robb could hear laughter ring out less than a few hundred feet away. They were at the head of the Fever River, hidden behind huge half drowned trees. Even though streams and creeks ran into the Fever, the water was green and covered with fungus. It was hard to tell the submerged logs floating in the water from lizard lions cleverly hidden under twigs. Three dozen longships were beached on the rocks, and the largest flew the golden kraken on a black sail.

"Why aren't there more ships?" he whispered.

"Many ships are guarding the entrance to the Saltspear. And the Barrowmen have managed to attack a few, so I suspect they have left some behind to defend against raids. They have also just arrived, so there may be more sailing east."

Robb looked through the spyglass that Jon gifted to him. There were guards on the longships, but they all faced North. He rubbed Grey Wind and looked at the eight fireships, loaded with pitch, and carrying long fuses. "We attack after nightfall. Prepare bows, arrows and spears."

"Will we be able to see, Lord Stark?" Wylis Manderly asked.

"Yes, by the fires of their burning boats." Robb said.

They waited after sunset and the changing of the guard. There were only a few men watching on each boat. The Ironborn had chosen not to camp on swampy land, preferring to sleep on their ships. With luck, they would burn to death under their decks.

Robb signalled for quiet as Northmen readied the weapons. Several crannogmen readied the fireboats, and lit the fuses as they pushed the modified canoes to the warships. The boats lurched unsteadily with the current and the crannogmen noiselessly escaped on their skiffs, darting behind rocks and trees with their short bows and spears. For minutes, nothing happened as the only thin wreaths of smoke were seen drifting to the longships. The Ironborn turned and pointed at the boats with derisive laughter. The canoes were dwarfed by the mighty longships, and barely made a dent. Then the world went on fire.

The first boat exploded, ripping a hole into a longship. The air was filled with a rain of wooden shards, kindling, and stone, intermixed with the heads, limbs and bodies of the guards. Other boats burst into flame, and the screams of unseen men filled the air. Sails caught on fire and holes could be seen where oarlocks had once been fitted into gunwales. The Fever River turned red with flame. Unarmored men rushed to the deck, bodies illuminated in the night.

"Fire." Robb cried. Umber and Manderly men hurled spears from the shore. Flint archers aimed volleys of arrows at clusters of men gathered on the decks. Some men dived off the longships only to be stabbed in midair by three pronged frog spears or Manderly tridents. The fire spread from boat to boat, as longships rammed into each other, trying to escape from the inferno. The Ironborn could not see into the darkness. The Northmen had no such problems. Ships began to sink with men still trapped underneath.

Robb and Grey Wind crept closer to the largest boat. A loud bellow split the night as men tried desperately to put out the fires on the kraken sail of the Iron Victory. The furious scream came from Victarion Greyjoy, clad in lobstered plate mail, and Robb took the two earthenware pots and hurled it on the deck. The pots shattered, and a cloud of white dust billowed out. Ironborn screamed when the dust hit their skin, and men toppled on the floor, clawing at their eyes. The crew on the Iron Victory tried to escape the white smoke, and the deck became a miasma of confusion, even as arrows and spears whistled through the air into the Ironborn.

Victarion Greyjoy growled and put on his great helm, shaped like a kraken. Eight tentacles stretched from head and chin and the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet jumped into the knee high water. The sight astonished Robb. Victarion wore full plate mail, a heavy cloak with layers of gold cloth, a full helm, and a massive battle axe in the right hand, and a large kite shield in the other. "I challenge you greenlanders to single combat." Victarion bellowed.

Robb held out his hand to Howland Reed. The crannogman handed over a net weighted with metal hooks. Grey Wind growled, and Victarion strode toward the dire wolf. Robb threw the net, and it landed squarely. Robb and the Greatjon pulled and Greyjoy was swept off his feet, landing head first into the murky water. Victarion struggled to rise but Grey Wind pounced, slamming the helmet deeper into the mud and Lord Reed stabbed his frog spear into the axe arm. Robb stepped forward as the Greatjon held the head under water. With the Valyrian steel dagger, Robb hacked the Lord Captain's head off, still in the kraken helm. He lifted it high in the air, blood dripping from the neck. "Here is your fucking iron price." Robb yelled at the longships.

A wild cheer came from the Northerners. "Young Wolf" they roared happily. The chant of Winterfell filled the night. The archers continued to release deadly volleys but most of Robb's men waited on shore to meet their enemies with sword, axe and spear. No quarter was given.

* * *

The next morning, Jon waited a fair distance outside the main gate of Harrenhal. A white flag of parley had been hung on the gatehouse last night but he preferred the light of day. Hornwood, Locke and Norrey held large tower shields, watching the walls in case of arrow or crossbow fire. Dacey, Smalljon, Eddard, and Beric were behind him. A dozen ballistas were manned by the Wintertown boys, and Gerry had returned to the crew after delivering Owen's raven yesterday.

A pallid man with red rimmed eyes and thin hair rode out on a black and white zorse, followed by a fat brown skinned Dothraki and a jester with a severed head at his belt. A tall gaunt man paced above the gatehouse. He had a long ropey beard, which dangled below his belt. "That is Vargo Hoat." Arya whispered, pointing to the leader of the Brave Companions on the wall.

"Snow." The cadaver on the zorse said. "My leader would invite you to speak inside the castle."

Jon shook his head. "You could pour hot oil on my men from the murder holes in the gatehouse. What does he want?"

"To change employers." the jester giggled.

"I am not in command. You would have to speak to Vargo Hoat." the first man said.

"Tell him to come down, then. Else there will be no parley" Jon said. "He will speak to you from the battlements." the cadaver said.

Three carroballistas moved forward, pulled by mules. "If he attempts a shot, I will fire a few in return." Jon said. He moved forward with his guard.

Vargo Hoat spoke with a heavy lisp. "Snnnnow. I have caztured the Lannisters. I will give them to you ifff you let me go."

"What happened with the Lannister men? And how many are left?" Jon said.

"Ve had a disagreeemnt. They diddd not want to live. I do." The Goat had an ugly smile. "I have caztured this Lorch. There are sixty Lannisters locked up in the dungeons. Some of them may have lost a few parts." The two ugly men with Hoat - one short, the other hairy - laughed.

"What do you want?" Jon asked.

"I haf heard that you Starks care about honor. I vant an oath that none of your men will harm me, and that I vill be allowed to leave Harrenhal." Hoat looked at the other Brave Companions. "And my men will not be harmed by yours eizer."

"Is Lorch alive?" Jon asked.

"Yez and unharmed. But I wish to feed him to a bear." Hoat said.

"Very well. But you will come down and escort me through the gatehouse. You will not leave my side, and your men will put down their arms. In return, I swear on the honor of House Stark that you and your men will not be harmed by my forces. And that you will leave the castle." Jon said.

Vargo Hoat grinned, a look of triumph on his gaunt face. Jon walked back, and prepared his troops to march into Harrenhal.

* * *

In the tent, an outraged Ser Raymund yelled and screamed. The bitterness of the smallfolk and the septons was clear to all, and the former members of the Brotherhood seethed with anger. Even the Northmen and squires looked uncomfortable. Only Dacey, Eddard, the Smalljon were unbothered, and the Winter Town boys were outside, readying wagons.

"Vargo Hoat is a monster. He is a torturer and a killer." Beric said.

"My Lord, I wish to reclaim Harrenhal but not to let these murderers go free." Lady Shella said.

"What did you promise, Ser Beric? Have you forgotten your words? You all swore an oath of fealty. The entire Brotherhood. And Ser Raymund, you vowed to follow me. As did the septons and the smallfolk. I hold you to these pledges. My men will do no harm to Vargo Hoat and the Brave Companions. Anyone who disobeys will hang." Jon said to much grumbling.

He talked to the Smalljon and Eddard quietly. The two men listened, and then left the tent. Jon pulled Arya and Dacey close. "Arya, stay with me. Keep Needle ready."

* * *

With the Goat at his side, Jon walked through the great gatehouse. He had been here before, long ago in another life. He remembered the Kingspyre, the slagged stone and the arching stone bridge. He remembered the sight from high up the tower, looking over the deep blue of the God's Eye. The Goat lisped and slobbered, prattling on about bathhouses and dungeons. Jon could only make out one of every three words, as Hoat's chains of coins clinked.

Northmen surged into the castle, securing every gate, the main barracks, and the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. Jon passed many frightened servants on the way to the middle ward.

"And thisss is the bear pit." Hoat declared. The arena below was substantial, an oval thirty feet by fifteen feet, walled in stone and floored with sand. Six tiers of marble benches overlooked the bear pit, and Jon could see traces of dried blood in the sand.

"Who are they?" Jon said, pointing at three squirming figures. They were naked and hairless, shaved from head to toe, and tied to wooden stocks. They were separated by a crude wood blocks from the main pit.

"Ahh, I have saved some girlsss for you. These ones slept with Lannister men. You may have first use." Hoat said gallantly.

Jon calmed Dacey down with a look. The She Bear had stayed close to Arya. The room was full of sniggering Brave Companions. There were at least fifteen of Hoat's followers. They were outnumbered though by Jon's battle guard and dozens of burly Karstark and Umber men. "Where are the prisoners?" he asked.

Vargo Hoat smiled like the ringmaster of a circus. With a wave of his hand, an old servant bought out a sobbing pale man, naked except for ropes around his neck and hands. Amory Lorch was portly, piggish, and pathetic as he begged for his life. Five other Lannisters were dragged out, bound together. Some had lost their foot, and others their hands. Jon called out to the burly man in front, who still stood proudly and glared at Hoat. "What is your name?"

"Ser Herrock of Kenning." the strong man said. He had been beaten about the face and his right arm ended at the wrist. There was still blood, so the right hand had been severed recently.

"Tell me, Ser Herrock. Can you still use your left hand?" Jon said. The big man nodded. That was sufficient, he thought. Jon motioned to Eddard and the Smalljon. The youngest Karstark brought out an ivory warhorn, and blew a blast. The Smalljon grabbed Hoat's arms and forced the Qohorik down to the ground. All around the room, Umber and Karstark overpowered and restrained the Companions with sheer numbers.

"What iz this? You swore on your honor." Vargo Hoat yelled.

"That my men would not harm you. And that is true - they will not." Jon said.

"Lord Snow, we will hunt down the other scum, but what if they resist?" Eddard asked.

"If they attack you, they violated the promise. But I want them captured, if possible." Jon said.

The younger Karstark and his men rushed out, spreading to all parts of Harrenhal. In a short time, the Northern army captured the remaining sellswords. An ugly squat man attempted to escape but Ghost dragged him down, taking care not to kill. Jon waited as they marched the Brave Companions, with the servants back to the bear pit. He was surprised that there were less than two dozen of the latter for such an enormous castle. There were another forty smallfolk, but it was not clear if they were prisoners or had served willingly. When most of the castle was herded into the middle ward, Jon began.

"I swore an oath that my men would not harm the Brave Companions, and that is true. But the Lannisters are not my men. Ser Herrock." Jon called.

"You are the Bloody Wolf." the knight said, eyes bulging.

Jon nodded. Hoat was tied up in rope and gagged. The gag was taken off before the Smalljon and Eddard lowered him into the bear pit. "Vargo Hoat, you shall receive the same terms you gave others. Ser Herrock, your men have my blessing to proceed. I want the Goat dying, not dead. And to be dying for a long time. Before his death, he will leave Harrenhal as promised."

Ser Herrock grinned, and hobbled to the gibbering goat. He picked up a jagged stone in his left hand. The screaming began soon after.

* * *

Jon turned to Chett. "Do we have stakes and rope?"

"Some, my Lord. But not enough ropes. But we could use their clothes to tie them fast to the stakes. You just have to rip the clothes into shreds first." Chett said.

"We don't need stakes. There are trees around the lake. We could use those." Clydas added.

"Smart lads. Smalljon, lower more men into the pit. This should not take all day. Gerry, bring in a wagon, so we can transport this scum out of the castle before they die." Jon said.

"Couldn't we use the bear? Would be faster." Smalljon said.

"No. I want them to die outside. And besides, it is cruel to the bear. Bring Lorch out of the pit unharmed. I have plans for him," Jon turned to the servants. Like many in the room, they were in shock with fright. "Now tell me, how exactly did you serve the Lannisters?"

The servants stammered and stuttered. Most kept their mouth shut, their eyes down, and their words unintelligible. A few pointed fingers at others. Goodwife Amabel blamed Weese for leading her astray. Goodwife Harra, an even older woman, begged for Lady Whent's kindness. Pinkeye prayed to the Seven as the screaming from the pit got louder.

Gendry stood up and shouted to be heard. "Lord Snow, the smiths have done nothing wrong. Lucan and Ben Blackthumb just make swords, shields and horseshoes. They made them for the Whents, the Lannisters, and everyone else in this castle."

"True. It is hard to hear over these sellswords. They do not seem brave now." Jon mused. He pivoted again to the servants. "Will you serve Lady Whent faithfully?"

"Of course, my Lord." The first to speak was the obsequious Maester Tothmure. Jon wondered if the man was assigned by the Citadel or worked for Tywin Lannister. His loyalty was dubious. The others rushed to agree.

* * *

Dacey brought the three naked girls from the pit, with scraps of cloth over their private parts. The prettiest one, a buxom brunette, fell immediately to her knees. "My Lord, please spare me. I will do anything you ask, anything." The other two were too terrified to say a word.

"That one slept with Lannister knights and a Brave Companion. She is a harlot." Amabel cried.

"What is your name?" Jon asked kindly.

"Pia, Milord. I work in the buttery."

"No one will harm you. If any man touches you, I will geld them and then hang them. Now get dressed, the three of you." Jon said before turning to the other servants. "If I see any mistreatment of smallfolk, I will not be pleased. You do not want that."

Jon dismissed the servants, and asked that dinner should be served at the usual hour. He also wanted a full inventory of supplies and weapons, particularly siege equipment, to be given to Chett. The Northern Lords, rivermen, squires and smallfolk looked on with stunned horror, as the Brave Companions were brutally dispatched - broken legs, shattered arms, tongues ripped out, teeth smashed in, entrails removed. Shit and blood was everywhere on the sand.

"Lord Snow, what do you plan to do with the Lannister prisoners?" Smalljon asked.

"Find out from Lorch who foraged and burnt the villages. All the men who followed him will die. Very few Lannister men will be alive by nightfall." Jon said.

"My lord, should these men not receive a trial? A man should not be slain unless his crimes have been proven." Ser Beric said.

"Those are your words. I have no desire or patience for trials by combat or pretty words. In any land, justice can have only one master. Otherwise it is chaos, and rule by force. Outside, all of you were hungry for blood. I have given it to you, and yet you complain. The Riverlands will be cleared and scoured clean. No more bandits, no more crimes, no more looting. " Jon said.

"The Faith of the Seven says that a man may ask for trial by combat." A septon said timidly.

"Are all septons great fools? If that was Ser Gregor Clegane who raped your daughters, burnt your lands, and slaughtered your men, would you allow him a trial by combat? So he can escape to do more killing? These monsters roamed the Riverlands for many moons. Your gods and lords were of no help. They will be in the Seven Hells by nightfall." Jon said.

The first dozen Brave Companions were dying. Northmen pulled them up by rope and loaded them on a wagon. A defrocked septon and a disgraced maester begged for mercy and asked for a clean death. Jon looked at the shabby Qyburn and shook his head. The Bloody Mummers would reap what they sowed.

The wagon left the castle, trailed by septons, Crownland knights, smallfolk. The Wintertown Boys and Jon Snow had gone ahead. He was guarded by the dire wolves and a company of Umber men. Vargo Hoat was given special treatment. The goat was crucified on a cross, his hands and feet nailed into the beams by a Lannister prisoner. The other Brave Companions were tied to trees, and left to die. Jon asked that each man be hung fifty paces apart. By the afternoon, a forest of screaming mewling men had sprung up outside the God's Eye. It stretched for miles, a wall of dying men, and villagers and townsfolk gathered in awe to see their tormentors tormented. Jon raised his hands to the sky, and clouds of ravens flew down. The carrion birds feasted on living flesh.

* * *

Tyrion Lannister sat with the rest of the Small Council in the Red Keep. He had thought his sister's presence as Queen Regent had been bad enough. That was before Joffrey had started to attend. Now, every session devolved into ranting and screaming with the other members attempting to curry favor with the boy King. There was not enough wine in King's Landing or even the entire Arbor to make these meetings palatable.

A small child dashed into the room, avoiding Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Meryn Trant. The boy handed a piece of paper to Varys and disappeared.

The Spider read the message, and then clucked in alarm.

"What has happened?" Cersei shouted.

"Jon Snow has taken Harrenhal. The Northern Army is now only two hundred miles away. The Stark banner has been seen far south on the kingsroad as Sow's Horn." Varys said.

Joffrey's face turned a mix of red and white. His nephew was furious and afraid, Tyrion thought. "How did he take Harrenhal in a week? My father left a garrison." Tyrion said.

"I cannot say, Lord Hand. My little bird reports that Jon Snow crucified hundreds outside the castle. He cut off hands, feet, tongues and cocks. Ravens ate the eyes of prisoners while they were still alive. Perhaps Snow fed the Goat to a goat." Varys tittered at the poor joke.

"He is only two days away. Where are the Tyrells? Where is Lord Tywin?" Joffrey yelled.

"I am certain your goodfather is coming as quickly as possible." Baelish said.

"We have called the banners in the Crownlands. Duskendale and Stokeworth are sending levies to join your grandfather." Tyrion said.

"But those men should be in King's Landing defending his grace. After all, they swore fealty to the Throne, not Casterly Rock." Baelish smirked.

"Lord Baelish is right. I am their lord. They should defend me." Joffrey ranted.

"Sweetling, they are needed in the field." Cersei said.

"I am their king. Pycelle, send a raven. I want them as my personal guards." Joffrey said.

Tyrion would have slapped his own head if he wasn't drinking wine. The stupidity of the powerful astonished him. The guards at the Red Keep were carefully chosen for loyalty. Now Joffrey wanted unknown strangers patrolling the halls. He truly was an idiot.

"Your grace, you should meet soon with the Tyrells. Their demands are considerable. We need to be certain of their absolute loyalty." Baelish said. The betrothal had yet to be announced, per Tywin Lannister's clear orders.

"What do you mean? Could they betray us?" Joffrey asked.

"The wolves are clever. The might of Highgarden must be turned against the Starks. If they were to conspire together against your grace and the Throne….." Baelish said.

Joffrey turned a deeper shade of red. Tyrion sighed. His Lord Father would not like this at all.

* * *

Tyrion returned to the Tower of the Hand. The meeting ended with Cersei trying to calm Joffrey down. Even Baelish claimed surprise at the depth of the king's rage. Tyrion had always known his oldest nephew had a horrible temper, but his sister had hidden it well. Temperament did not improve with a crown. When he entered the Small Hall, Bronn and Podrick waited at a table with sellswords. Podrick had already bought out several bottles of Dornish Red and Arbor Gold, and poured several goblets. Tyrion did not need Bronn's glare or Podrick's pained expression to realize this conversation would be unpleasant.

"Have you heard the news? They say that..." Bronn said.

"Jon Snow has taken Harrenhal." Tyrion said. He drank one goblet and reached for the second. It was remarkable how fast the story travelled. Either Varys was the source or other groups like the Faith had spies at the castle. Perhaps both were true.

"What are you going to do?" Bronn asked.

Tyrion waited for the muttering of the sellswords to stop. "What can I do? I will not march to Harrenhal. You have me confused with Aegon the Conqueror. I am a bit shorter, I do not have two wives, and no dragons."

"Unlike you, I have been doing something." Bronn said acidly. "Podrick, being her out."

The girl that Pod escorted might have been pretty, had she not looked like a little mouse. She was skinny, with dark hair and small bosomed. Her brown eyes were hollow and she could not meet his gaze. She was skittish - No, she was scared to death. Something terrible had happened to her. A loud cry came from the corner where a beautiful girl knitted in the sunlight. "Jeyne! Jeyne!" Sansa Stark rushed over.

The girl began to shake and sob and threw herself at Sansa's feet. "Please, my lady. Please. Save me." Jeyne whimpered on the floor, like a kicked dog. Her tears soaked Sansa's dress.

"What have you done to her?" Sansa demanded. She wrapped the girl in her arms.

Tyrion felt hard pressed by this turn of events. Being the Hand of the King was not as glorious as expected. He glared at Bronn. The sellsword stared back hard.

"We found her at Baelish's brothel, the one off the Street of Silk, near Fishmonger's Square. Baelish's man Umjones refused to talk until I cut off two fingers. Her name is Jeyne Poole. Littlefinger had some crazy plan to sell her as Arya or Sansa Stark." Bronn said.

Tyrion wondered who would name himself Umjones. Was that a first name or a last one? Then again, Bronn had no compunctions about killing smallfolk. In all likelihood, this Um person was floating in the harbor. "Did anyone else see you?" he said.

Bronn shook his head. "We stole some gold from the strongbox and took some records. It will look like the man ran away with her."

Tyrion doubted that Baelish would think that. "Lady Sansa, who is this Jeyne Poole?"

"Our steward's daughter. The Queen mounted his head on a spike with my septa." Sansa said.

"My lady, they forced me .. to be with many men. I didn't want to - I swear." Jeyne cried.

"We found her naked, with a chain about her neck tied to the wall. She was on her back, and her legs were ..." Bronn stopped. He might be a whoremonger but the sellsword had no desire to torment the girl further.

"These things happen in war." Tyrion said and reached for another goblet.

"She is my best friend. How could Baelish do this? How could anyone be this cruel?" Sansa hugged Jeyne Poole tightly.

Tyrion remembered Lady Tysha of House Silverfist whose sigil was a gold coin and a hundred silver stags on a bloody sheet. My father is a greater monster than Littlefinger, he thought. Bronn wrenched the wine goblet from his hands.

"Imp, I got you the girl. Use the brains that you are famous for." Bronn said.

"Lady Sansa. Is Jeyne Poole friendly with your brothers Robb and Jon? Do they care about her at all?" Tyrion said.

Sansa scrunched up her pretty face. "Jeyne? She was fond of Robb but my brother preferred sparring and hunting than speaking to my friends. As for Jon, he was a bastard and everyone treated him as such." Sansa said.

Tyrion steadied himself. Lannisters did not groan. They had an alliance with the Reach and the famine in King's Landing would soon end. Littlefinger's schemes troubled him but if Cersei controlled her son, they could follow his father's plan and send the Starks North. The Tyrells would control the Small Council but the roses were not dangerous as wolves. Perhaps after the war ended, he could take a tour of the Free Cities or Dorne.

"Are you saying that she has no fooking value to your brothers?" Bronn asked.

"She is a steward's daughter, not a lost princess." Tyrion snapped. He grabbed the goblet and drank some much needed wine. "The valuable part is learning of Baelish's scheme, not the girl."

"My lord, my brothers care about the fate of all the Stark servants. My lady mother and Robb knew the worth of Vayon Poole. And Jon - he was always kind. He will not hold the words of many years ago against Jeyne." Sansa said.

"The girl may still have value. The Starks think that the entire household was killed by Cersei. The news of a survivor will buy us some goodwill. But we must keep this Jeyne hidden and find a way to send a secret message to the Northmen." Tyrion said.

"I knew you were good for something." Bronn said. He handed the dwarf a bottle of Arbor Gold.

* * *

Everything in war took longer than expected. Two days passed before they had sorted out the castle, searched the towers thoroughly, accounted for stores and supplies, and compiled a full list of Lannister prisoners and the smallfolk enslaved at the castle. Maester Tothmure and Brewmaster Tuffleberry had been helpful but he didn't trust either man at all.

Jon Snow sat in the great hall, named the Hall of a Hundred Hearths by Harren the Black. He counted less than forty fireplaces but the room was immense, large enough to hold many thousand men. He had decided against using the solars in the five massive towers as an office. For one, those rooms were far from the ground and required a long walk. For another, he despised Harrenhal. The less time spent in the ruined towers, the better. He preferred the small section of the hall, cordoned off by Winterfell guards, where he could held court with Arya and the dire wolves near.

"Milord." Jeyne Heddle curtsied low, and handed an envelope sealed with the Stark dire wolf. Robb had sent a raven from the North and addressed it to the Inn at the Crossroad. The older Heddle sister, eager to see her lover, Alayn, had ridden down in a day.

Jon read the message. "Thank you, Lady Heddle. Smalljon. Tell the men I will address them at dinner. I want all hands in the hall, and every knight and commander"

"Is it news from the North?" Smalljon asked eagerly.

Jon smiled. "Yes, quite good. You will be pleased, but for now, I have many things to do."

Before he could leave with Ghost, Daryn Hornwood and Ser Raymund Mallery walked over, dragging a villager, perhaps of one and six name days.

Hornwood spoke first. "Lord Snow. This fellow was a spy for the Brave Companions. He joined Ser Raymund and the septons to report on your actions."

"Milord, please. They took my sister. They said they would kill her if I didn't report back on you." The boy cried.

"What happened to the girl?" Jon asked.

"We found her in a cell underneath Widow's Tower. Dead a long time." Ser Raymund said.

Jon sighed. "They are all dead, I suppose? All of the Brave Companions." Chett nodded. "I wish they were alive so I could make them suffer. Release the boy. Wait - how did you send a message to Vargo Hoat?"

"He wanted to know if you would keep your oath. If I knew you was lying, I was to raise my left hand. I thought you would honor the promise, so I raised my right." the boy said.

"I did keep the promise. My men did not harm him and he left the castle alive." Jon said. "Let the boy go. Harrenhal has seen enough blood for now."

* * *

Jon walked the yards alone. Even Ghost stayed away, running with Nymeria. The castle was an abomination. A cruel man built a cruel castle, and the horrors still plagued the Riverlands three hundred years later. There were always monsters in this world, and men needed tools to kill them. Aegon Targaryen's weapon was Balerion. But Jon had no dragons.

He walked by the barracks where men drilled and took their meals. Pikemen tried to charge en masse for a few hundred feet and stop. They had improved and could end the run without skewering each other. He passed the ruined godswood, with a heart tree that seemed to glare with hatred from its terrible eyes and twisted mouth. He arrived at the smithy, a long building shaped like a tunnel, with twenty forges and water troughs to cool heated metal. He ordered the building sealed so that no one could watch. Jon started the largest forge, and picked out the tools - bellows, a hammer and tongs.

For four years, Jon had studied metallurgy, the secrets of extracting and working metal. The maesters of the Citadel claimed they had solved the Riddle of Steel - using charcoal or limestone to transform iron. The more charcoal, the harder the blade and the sharper the edge. But there was a problem. The harder a blade, the easier it would shatter - not like glass, but it would become notched, chipped and blunted. A sword had to be sharp to deliver the killing blow but flexible enough to absorb force. The metal could not yield when attacking but had to bend on defense. And the blade had to be balanced and the weight evenly distributed.

The maesters of smithing believed the answer was pattern welding - forging different layers of steel and iron together to create hardness and toughness. Thin layers of patterned steel were overlaid onto a soft iron core to create metal that could hold an edge but still bend. Skilled bladesmiths treated the steel many times - repeatedly heating, twisting, hammering and folding until impurities were removed and ripples emerged from the layers. Jon admired the craft but the maesters were wrong. With time and skill, pattern welding produced a good sword, but not a great one. Valyrian steel required something more.

The forge was red hot now. Jon unwrapped the sheepskin and took out the slender blade. At Riverrun, from a pure ingot of steel, he hammered out the blade, cooled the metal, filed off the sides, and quenched and tempered in hot oil. It would make a fine weapon but he could make better. The secrets of Valyrian steel had been lost in the Doom but there were obvious clues. Valyrian steel handled incredible heat and was dark, nearly black. No folding or pattern welding could achieve those two qualities or match the lightness of the metal. Only magic could do that - the magic of dragons. The legends claimed that Valyrian steel was forged by dragon fire. Jon believed it was something rarer and more precious - dragon blood.

"Kill the Boy. Let the dragon be born." Those were the words Brynden River whispered in his dreams. Jon waited until the sword had turned orange red. Then he took a knife and cut his hand and his arms. The blood dripped down and the blade smoked, the steel melting and burning. He took the hammer and tongs, and even as the drops fell, Jon beat the steel thinner. The fire burned hotter and fiercer, and the blade began to ripple and darken.

There were no spells or songs, just his life blood bleeding on the steel. The fire was so hot that Jon was surprised it did not sear his wounds shut. He did not burn though, even as the flames shifted from orange to yellow to blue while the blade became dark grey and the whorls flowed like water over the surface. I am the Blood of the Dragon, and this sword was crafted with my blood. When he finished, Jon held up the blade and examined the ripples where his blood had melted. He set a red stone on the crossguard and attached the pommel of a gold she-wolf.

* * *

The night, the men assembled in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. Lady Shella Whent sat proudly, restored to the great chair at the high table of Harrenhal but every man, woman and child in the castle knew who held the true power in the castle. Jon Snow stood up and all eyes were on him.

"My Lords, Ladies, and knights. We have received news - both good and bad. I will tell you the dark words first. Mace Tyrell has betrothed his daughter Margaery to Joffrey Baratheon. Highgarden is now aligned with the Iron Throne." Jon said.

"Isn't she married to Renly?" Lord Cerwyn shouted.

"Not anymore. We must prepare to face the swords of the Reach." Jon said.

"But the Reach has tens of thousands of men, Lord Snow." a Riverlands knight said.

"Aye, it will not be easy, but the Young Wolf leads us in battle. And the other message - Robb Stark went North with Flint, Manderly and Umber men to fight the IronBorn at the Neck. He burned their ships, cut off Victarion Greyjoy's head and sunk the Iron Victory. There are two thousand ironmen dead on the Fever River." Jon said.

Wild cheering filled the room. The next battle would be hard, but for now, the North roared over his brother's success. Jon slipped away. This feast belonged to Lady Whent.

* * *

Arya Stark followed Nymeria to the godswood. He stood under a sentinel tree, with Ghost prowling around the dark haunted grounds. "Jon, I received your message." Her brother smiled, and handed her a sword in a scabbard. "My name day. You did not forget."

"Of course not. I promised to forge you a true sword. Your gift." Jon said.

Arya gasped when she drew the smoky gray blade, so dark it was almost black. The sword was light and slender, with distinctive ripples. She made several cuts and thrusts, marveling at the speed and balance. "Is this Valyrian steel?"

"As close as I could make it." Jon mounted on a tree a heavy steel breastplate. The armor was worn but still strong. The sigil was a black bat on silver and gold. "Strike."

Arya lunged forward and thrust the sword at the plate. It pierced an entire foot through into the trunk of the sentinel tree, and when she stepped back, the blade came out effortlessly. A slender hole, an inch wide, could be seen at the point of the thrust. Syrio Forel told her that all men were made of water. Had the target been a man, the water would gush out and they would die. She gazed at the sword with wonder.

"This is a blade to slay monsters, Little Sister. Not to fight squires or spar in the yard." Jon said.

"Does it have a name?" Arya asked.

"Gram. The sword of heroes. It is the name of a legendary blade from Ancient Valyria."

"What does Gram mean?" Arya said.

"Two meanings, sister. The first is Sorrow. Heroes do not live happy lives. But the second name is better. Wrath." Jon said.

**Author's Notes**

Early flak jackets were manganese steel plates sewn into a waistcoat made of ballistic nylon. Arya's jacket is probably lighter than it should be but it is made in the style of Japanese armor.

Lady Ravella Smallwood is one of my favorite minor characters. GRRM uses a neat technique in that he focuses primarily on Gendry and Arya in those chapters. We actually have no idea how old Lady Smallwood is besides her having a daughter (probably Sansa's age) that she sent to Oldtown for safety.

Tywin Lannister may be a terrible parent but he is a determined foe. I would think after a defeat, he would simply think about how to rebuild. Doesn't mean he won't lose - but he is not a quitter. He would focus on the next step and the many steps after that.

I am very curious how the whole Prince who was Promised story will come out in the books. My memory is that that idea was a huge deal, to the point where people wondered whether Jon or Daenerys was Azor Ahai. Obviously, Arya jumping into the picture has no support whatsoever.

How does bread last a long time? In ancient times, the moisture is taken out of the bread by multiple rounds of baking. The British royal navy issued rations of hardtack in the 1500s, but variations were carried by Egyptian sailors and Roman soldiers. Funny enough, I actually think this is what Tolkien meant when he created lembas! Although in Game of Thrones, you would never use such a foofy word to describe hard bread.

The pike is a very interesting weapon. Phillip of Macedonia, Alexander the Great's father, introduced the sarissa - a much longer two handed spear, 13 to 20 feet in length. This weapon was a major innovation and helped Alexander crush his enemies. The Roman legion, with greater tactical flexibility, defeated the Macedonian phalanx at the Battle of Pynda. The sarissa was blamed (unfairly) and didn't resurface again until a thousand years later with the Swiss. Basically people took the wrong lesson from the defeat. Pikes were great - they just needed to be protected by cavalry and attack aggressively with discipline.

Pates, Wats and Elmos. This is a joke from one of the Duncan and Egg books where Duncan is training the men at Standfast. Half a dozen of the villagers in the militia are called Wat.

Marching music started in the Ottoman Empire in the 16th century. It quickly spread to Europe. You could argue the pikemen are able to charge without it, but it is a good way to coordinate troops. In ancient war, and even today, coordination is tricky in the heat of battle.

Robb against the Ironborn. There were two possibilities for Robb. The first was him going to Hoster Tully's funeral. I thought about this but decided that would be boring and pointless - All it shows is that Edmure Tully is wimpy. It makes more sense for Robb to strike with surprise.

The average speed of a Viking longship was 6 to 10 miles per hour. Under optimal conditions, a warship could travel twenty miles per hour. A longship had symmetrical ends so the Vikings could reverse themselves with ease. I imagine other ships are slower but I will give the Rivermen and the Manderlys credit for their naval ability.

I did a fair bit of research on naval warfare. Hellburners were used in the Siege of Antwerp by Dutch Rebels in 1585. Each ship packed a chamber full of 7000 pounds of gunpowder. The explosion killed 800 men in one shot, and could be heard 50 miles away. Jon will not have gunpowder. As for quicklime, this was used in medieval naval battles. Look up Roger of Lauria, a very talented and ruthless naval commander. Quicklime would react with water, and blind people. People believe that this was an ingredient of Greek fire - and in Westeros, probably wildfire.

Victarion Greyjoy is famous for wearing full plate mail on a ship. I thought his death by drowning and beheading quite fitting. Euron may be the bigger monster but Victarion is one sick monster. And he is a moron.

Harrenhal was probably based on the castle Pontefract. Pontefract was built on an Anglo Saxon burial ground! And was an enormous majestic castle that fell into ruin. The castle is roughly in the middle of England, just like Harrenhal, and no family ever held it for long In fact, King Richard II was allegedly starved to death at the castle, and many nobles either killed or arrested for crimes at the castle. The dungeons were 35 feet deep at Pontefract.

I suspect more of my readers come from the TV show than the book. Hoat lisps in the book, so that explains the dialogue. Vargo Hoat, Gregor Clegane, Roose and Ramsay Bolton are all horrible people, and they deserve to die in the worst possible way. I don't read horror but the GRRM writes a lot of torture porn. As Hoat is toast, Jaime is not getting his hand chopped off, for the purpose of redeeming his character.

Trial by combat did happen in history and it was a good plot device. However, the logic of it is poor. Tyrion uses it twice - Bronn at the Vale, and Oberyn versus the Mountain. Sandor Clegane kills Beric in his trial. That is supposed to show Beric is fair, but it is a piece of crock. Arya points out that they should not let murderers go free.

Pia is missing from the TV show, I believe. In any case, her treatment in the books is awful and egregious. For TV viewers, that is a good thing. She is there to show war crimes and that Jaime is on the path to redemption. Harrenhal really was a terrible place and GRRM was prepping for the ghoulish Ramsay Snow.

Sword making actually would take a long time, but I had Jon do a lot of it at Riverrun. Pattern welding, by the way, goes out of favor once superior forge technology, the blast furnace, is introduced. People go nuts about Japanese sword making etc, but really they had inferior steel. You only need to fold it many many times if the metal is imperfect. Making Arya's sword requires Jon to bleed quite a bit - so this is more of an one-off.

Gram is the sword of Sigurd in the **Saga of the Volsungs**. And Gram can kill dragons.


	24. The King Who Never Was

**The King Who Never Was**

Jon dreamt of the weirwood tree at Harrenhal. Harren the Black, an impious man, built a walled godswood, twenty acres large, six times greater than the godswood of the Starks. But the three acres of trees at Winterfell had lasted eight thousand years, and Jon took comfort from the brooding beauty of that primal forest. At Harrenhal, the godswood was dark and dank, trees sucking at a small stream and shrinking back in fear from the heart tree, a weirwood with a bone white face full of hate, a twisted mouth and flaring eyes. Thirteen deep marks were carved on the bark near the red eyes, and in his dreams, the heart tree bled and screamed.

A weirwood could live forever if undisturbed but should anything live that long, Jon wondered. What horrors had it seen? Did it suffer when Black Harren built his folly on the corpses of thousands of men? Or was it when Aegon burnt the towers and walls down? He reached out with his hands and the tree shuddered in agony.

"The weirwood fears you." The speaker was a gaunt thin man with bone white skin. Brynden Rivers enjoyed his riddles.

"Why? I have done nothing to it." Jon said.

Bloodraven snorted. "Time does not matter for a weirwood tree. The children of the forest bound their greenseers to the mightiest weirwoods. By doing so, the greenseers would live forever, and see the past and the future. But they needed to be wed to the trees to do so."

"Wed to the trees? Why would anyone choose that?" Jon said.

"Who said they had a choice? Greenseers made sacrifices to protect their people, the children of the forest." Bloodraven said.

"Maester Luwin said the children have been gone for thousands of years, and nothing is left of them but the faces carved in trees." Jon said.

"Nothing is ever truly gone, Jon Snow. Not the children, or dragons or magic. How could you forge a Valyrian steel blade with your blood?" Bloodraven said.

"I have the blood of the dragon." Jon said.

"And how can that be?" he asked.

"There were three male Targaryens alive at my birth - a mad king, a six year old boy, and the Prince of Dragonstone. Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna Stark, who I once thought was my aunt. She died in Dorne where I was born." Jon said.

"You are more than the child of a dragon and a wolf. It is time for you to discover who you are. Go to the Isle of Faces. You will find him there." Bloodraven said.

"Must you speak in riddles? Who will I find on the Isle of Faces?" Jon said.

"You will find yourself." Bloodraven smirked. "Do you wish to save House Stark? To spare your brothers and sisters from torment? Then go. He is waiting."

* * *

Five days later, Robb arrived at Harrenhal. Jon had dispatched a force of five hundred men to escort his brother from the Inn at the Crossroads but he need not have bothered. All of the Riverlands were at peace - from the northern tip of the Trident to Blackwater Rush, from Maidenpool to the mountainous border with the Westerlands. For the first time in almost a year, the three main roads of the Riverlands - the river Road, the gold Road, and the kingsroad - were clear from bandits and Lannister men. Inns, keeps and holdfasts offered visitors fire, bread and salt, and all knew about the Northern victory and the forest of dead men south of Harrenhal.

It wasn't much of a forest, Jon thought. True, it stretched for miles in every direction but only because the first man who paced must have been a giant. Jon had ordered a sellsword hung every fifty paces, but there were less than 20 a mile. Either his men counted poorly or they had leaped in every step. Two hundred and fifty bodies hung from trees and makeshift gallows, and most were Brave Companions. Jon executed only two dozen Lannister men, and a smattering of bandits too stupid or brutal to change their ways.

In the last few days, a steady rain had fallen from Harroway to Stony Sept. Septons declared that it was the **Father **blessing the fields with a bountiful harvest. Bards and minstrels sang that the **Mother** and the **Maiden** cried for the sufferings of the Riverlands. The smallfolk whispered that the Bloody Wolf had conjured the storms from the highest tower at Harrenhal with ritual sacrifice. Jon thought the explanations silly. The weather was the weather. And if the rain fed grass, fields and rivers, smallfolk could till their lands and fishermen catch a greater bounty. The rain lashing down in heavy waves thoroughly ruined the effect of the forest of dead bodies. Soggy men, even broken corpses, did not frighten anyone.

Fifteen hundred prisoners were captured at the Trident and sixty more at Harrenhal. Those who were not highborn would be released back west either to the Golden Tooth or Deep Den. The captives had sworn oaths that they would never attack the North or the Riverlands, but the wagons could carry only a few hundred at a time. Highborn knights and lords would be held at Riverrun, although Jon allowed Ser Herrock and any other crippled men to return home.

Life at Harrenhal settled into a simple pattern. The granaries stocked food and stores to prepare for future campaigns. Bands of scouts travelled the kingsroad, reporting no Lannisters as far south as Sow's Horn. Men trained in Flowstone Yard, although the pikemen were unable to execute anything other than the most basic maneuvers. Arya won victories beating up other squires and carried only Needle and not Gram.

Robb Stark was greeted with a joyous uproar on his return. The Northmen carried back trophies of their victory - silver belt buckles, bracelets, rings and ivory drinking horns. The Manderly brothers displayed the torn sail of the golden kraken which they planned to hang at half mast at White Harbour. Robb had been generous with the spoils taken from the Lord Captain of the Iron Flint. Robin Flint, the Manderlys, and the Greatjon divided the full plate, the cloak of gold cloth, the war axe, and long sword. Robb kept the great helm, and two dumb brutish eyes frozen in death could seen behind the kraken's face.

After the wild boasting and loud hurrahs subsided, Robb repaired to the castellan's chambers to speak with Jon. He and Grey Wind paced back and forth. Robb waited until Olyvar Frey had made certain that no one could hear.

"I meant to return earlier but I was delayed at the Inn at the Crossroads. The Rivermen came to speak with me." Robb said.

Jon raised his eyebrows. "Aren't they at Riverrun? Lord Mooton and Lord Darry returned to their lands, but the other houses attended Hoster Tully's funeral."

"The Riverlords remain at Riverrun. They have to pledge loyalty to Edmure, as the new Lord Tully. But their sons and heirs came to the Inn at the Crossroads." Robb said.

"Which ones?" Jon asked.

"Almost all of them. Marq Piper, Hugo Vance, Patrek Mallister, Brynden and Lucas Blackwood, Hendry Bracken, and half a dozen others. They wish me to be King of the Trident." Robb said.

Jon burst out laughing. Discord in an army was never positive but the situation was amusing.

"What is so funny?" Robb asked.

"Robb, everyone else is playing this game of thrones and fighting to be King - Renly, Stannis, Joffrey. They say that Balon Greyjoy crowned himself King of the Iron Islands. You on the other hand have fallen arse backward into two offers of kingship." Jon said.

Robb's expression shifted from annoyance to laughter. The two brothers chuckled before Robb, still smiling, continued. "Jon, what do you think? They don't trust Edmure to defend the Riverlands. They think him unable to match Tywin Lannister."

The Rivermen were right, but that was not Jon's concern. "Robb, when we were children, I swore to stand by your side in battle. Do you want the Iron Throne? If you do, then I will fight with you. But tell me your thoughts first before I give my opinion."

"I do not want a throne, Jon. I saw Robert Baratheon at Winterfell. Father always said he was the greatest warrior of the land and a giant among princes. But after he became king, he was just a fat drunk. I want the Riverlands to be at peace. I want Sansa back home. But I do not want to sit on a chair made of swords. Who would?" Robb said.

"You would rule with honor and justice. But becoming king has nothing to do with such things. The Riverlands are a thousand miles away from Winterfall, but that is not the real problem. The greater issue is the borders. The Riverlands shares borders with six of the seven Kingdoms - the North, the Westerlands, the Vale, the Iron Islands, the Reach and the Stormlands. Anyone who holds the Riverlands must have support from other regions. Otherwise, you would be like the Storm King fighting with House Hoare over the Trident." Jon said.

"But I do not want the Rivermen to suffer." Robb said.

"What did you think of the Tyrells and the men of the Reach?" Jon said.

"They have many knights and their army is far larger than ours. The men boast about their fighting skills but so do our bannermen. Mace and Loras Tyrell are idiots but Willas, Ser Garlan and Margaery are no fools. And neither is Lady Olenna. She took the raven you sent from Golden Tooth. If she were a man, she would rule the Reach." Robb said.

"The Tyrells have no reason to want more bloodshed in the Riverlands. If you demand peace for House Tully and their bannermen, they may agree. The Tyrells want to rule over the Seven Kingdoms, not fight endless wars." Jon said.

"Aye, there is another matter, Jon." Robb hesitated. "When I was fighting at the Neck, I missed the Lady Talisa. I wish to court her, and to ask for her hand in marriage."

"And does the lady feel the same? Or will your words chase her back to the Reach?" Jon jested.

"Watch it, Snow. I have been told that as Lord of Winterfell, I am a great prize in marriage." Robb feigned a pompous tone.

"By who? The Greatjon?" Jon said. They laughed again. "Robb, I am glad for you, but I would wait a moon. I do not think the bannermen will be angered, but it would be best to delay until the war in the Riverlands is over. We do not know if we will need allies in marriage. Talisa is kind and bright but she brings no swords or spears."

"She is from a noble family in Volantis." Robb said.

"That means her family is two thousand miles away. Volantis is known for their wealth, trade and slaves but not their skills at arms." Jon said.

"You are right, Jon. My mother says that I cannot marry for love. But the heart wants what the heart wants." Robb said.

"Lady Catelyn is right in war, Robb. If the North must fight, your duty is to your men and to defend your smallfolk and lands. But in peace, you can marry Talisa." Jon said.

"I wish we could find more swords. I have heard nothing from Ser Robar. Nor from Lord Bolton. If Bolton joins Lord Tywin's army, and more recruits come from the Crownlands, the Lannister force would be greater than fifteen thousand again." Robb lamented.

"I have an idea." Jon said.

"More of your pikemen? How goes their training?" Robb said.

"Not well. It will take many moons to shape them into a fighting force. I tried to teach them to turn right. After the order, half the men faced right. Half went left. We were lucky that their pikes were pointed at the sky, else it would have been bloodier than the Red Fork." Jon said.

The brothers laughed for the third time. Grey Wind and Ghost shook their heads, wondering why their masters were so silly. The little cousins of the wolf pack would follow their orders.

"There is a way to get spears, but only after several moons. Still it is worth pursuing." Jon said. He told his brother more.

* * *

The two brothers walked down to Flowstone Yard, near the Wailing Tower. Men, boys, and Arya drilled for war in the giant yard. Harrenhal was so immense that many quintains were set up near the stables for squires to practice charging with a shield and lance. The central quintain had a small metal ring and the best riders tilted at the rings. A flat field was set aside for lines of archers to shoot at five butts, circular mounds placed one hundred fifty yards away. The targets were five crudely colored rings, and men cheered when the arrows hit the center yellow band. Pikeman trained outside the castle, given the loud drumming, and the need for more space.

Nymeria perked up at the sight of her brothers. The she-wolf was forbidden to help her skinny little girl in fighting other children with silver claws. Not that her aid was needed. Arya had easily beaten a boy with a black pitchfork and another wearing two porcupines. Nymeria wondered why anyone would choose a sigil other than a dire wolf.

Jon cleared his throat. Arya, alert as ever, shifted sideways on the balls of her foot. She turned, sword in her hand, ready to pounce when she saw Jon and Robb. She smiled, and gave an impish bow. "Jon, do you have any duties for your squire?" Arya said.

"Actually, sister. We need him." Jon pointed to the boy that Arya had been fighting. Edric Dayne nervously placed his blunted blade on the ground.

* * *

They retired to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. Ser Beric and Thoros of Myr sat with Edric, facing the Starks. Guards had dragged a small porcine man in chains there on Jon's orders, and the Winter Town boys stood ready.

"Lord Stark. House Lannister will ransom me. The Old Lion looks upon my house with great favor." Amory Lorch simpered in a high, thin voice.

"Your brother, Ser Lorent, said the same before I ordered him dragged to his death. Although I believed he threatened me first with Lord Tywin's revenge. Chett, was that before or after he called me a bastard?" Jon said.

"Lorent called you a bastard before and after the threat. He also swore that he would escape and take your head. And that his brother, Ser Amory, would kill you a dozen times." Chett said. The piggy Amory blanched with fear.

"We're not going to kill you, Lorch." Jon smiled. "Edric Dayne, you have pledged your service to me. I wish you to deliver Amory Lorch to Sunspear and House Martell. I am sure Prince Doran and his brother will have questions for him."

Edric looked to Beric Dondarrion for guidance. "This is justice, lad. Lorch is no true knight. He took part in the murder of the royal family at King's Landing." Beric said.

"I only followed orders." Lorch blubbered. "The Mountain killed the baby and his mother."

"Yes, and you stabbed a three year old girl to death." Robb said with disgust.

"Whose orders?" Jon said. "Who directed you to kill the children?"

Lorch looked around wild-eyed, hoping for any glimmer of a reprieve or mercy. He found none. "Who directed you?" Jon asked again.

"Lord Tywin. He ordered Elia Martell and her children slain, and their bodies presented to Robert Baratheon." Lorch said.

Jon nodded. "Edric, tomorrow, you will go to Maidenpool. You cannot sail directly to Dorne. You should go to Gulltown, and take a ship to Pentos. From there, find a ship going to Sunspear."

"You will need an armed escort - at least half a dozen men. Do you wish to return to Dorne, Lord Dondarrion?" Robb asked.

"Lord Stark, I barely remember my castle in the Marches, or the eyes of my betrothed. She was beautiful but I cannot recall her face. My place is with the White Wolf." Beric said.

"Ser Emmon Cuy may serve. Better he go to Dorne than fight against his friends in the Reach. The Forresters could escort them with other loyal Northmen." Jon said.

"My Lords, I am happy to serve, but what message should I bring to Prince Doran?" Edric said.

Robb thought for a moment. "Tell the Martells that House Stark wishes to make an alliance. Amory Lorch is a gift captured by my brother. We have beaten the Lannisters in many battles, but Dornish swords and spears would help us defeat them for good. Jon, what would you add?"

"When you arrive at Sunspear, announce to the city that the North have sent Rhaenys's killer to Dorne. Ask the Martells if they want to avenge their sister and her children." Jon said.

* * *

Jon finished the letter to Maege Mormont. He missed dinner again, but also avoided Lady Stark and the Rivermen. Many Southron knights and lords expressed shock at the treatment of the Brave Companions. He had given the Bloody Mummers an easier death than they deserved, Jon thought. His only regret was that the justice was not complete. The little thieves were hanged, but the great ones escaped.

Ghost heard the rustle at the door first, but the dire wolf bounded over and gave the entrant a great big lick. Jon chuckled at Arya's cry of surprise. "Sister, you cannot sneak up on a dire wolf. Their senses are far better than ours."

"Geroff, Ghost." Arya said. Nymeria snuck into the room and took a large bite of Ghost's roast chicken. 'You weren't at dinner."

"I am trying to get more swords for Robb. Most of the prisoners from the Battle of Oxcross and capture of the Tooth have been released. There are only fifty captives left at the castle, and most are highborn ladies. We still need a garrison at the Golden Tooth to secure that pass, and demand supplies but Lady Maege can send the bulk of her forces to Harrenhal." Jon said.

"Do you think the Dornish will send us men?" Arya said.

Jon shook his head. "Not any time soon. Edric should arrive in Gulltown in less than a week. But it is a much longer trip to Pentos. He has to sail to Essos to avoid the waters from Dragonstone to Storm's End. It is a thousand miles from Pentos to Sunspear. If the winds are good, and the ships make no other stops, the whole trip will take a full moon's time. And for Dorne to raise an army, and find enough ships to bring them to Maidenpool, that would take much longer."

"But why did you send Edric off then?" Arya said.

"One, Edric deserves better than to be a dead man's squire. And two, Rhaenys Targaryen is beloved still in Dorne. It is justice that Elia Martell's brothers punish Lorch for his crimes."

"At dinner, my lady mother sat me next to Edric Dayne and Lyman Darry. Edric asked her if he could write to me from Dorne." Arya said.

"Did Lord Darry and Lord Dayne fight a duel for your hand? And should I call you the Lady of Starfall now?" Jon jested.

His sister stuck out her tongue. "I do not want to be betrothed." Arya said.

"You have only twelve name days." Jon said.

"Sansa was betrothed at thirteen." Arya said grimly. "I want to be free to make my own way. To see the world."

Jon thought his little sister was much like Elissa Farman who built the Sunchaser to sail west of Westeros. "You may like Dorne, sister. Women are treated as the equal of men. Girls can be warriors and can inherit titles as well." Jon said.

"I should not have to go South for that. That should be true everywhere, not just Dorne." Arya said. "We could travel around Westeros and be hedge knights - like Dunk and Egg."

Jon smiled. "That sounds nice until you run out of coin and have nowhere to sleep but a hedge and nothing to eat but a slab of hard salt beef. And I am not the size of Ser Duncan."

"Will you take me to see the Citadel, Jon?" Arya asked.

"I do not know if I will be welcomed back. Many acolytes belong to the families of the Reach. If we battle the Tyrells, then I will fight and kill their brothers and cousins. Even if we do not, I will be in danger at the Citadel. I have no doubt the Lannisters will try to kill me there." Jon said.

"What?" Arya and Nymeria reacted with shock.

"The Lannisters have the coin to hire assassins. At the Citadel, I will have no army to protect me. And if I die, Robb will never find the killers. Oldtown is very far away." Jon said.

"I won't let you die. I will kill Lord Tywin." Arya said.

"You won't be my squire forever." Jon said. "And it won't just be Lord Tywin. There are many Lannisters, and his grandchildren on the Iron Throne. Even if Joffrey dies, it won't end."

"What will you do, Jon?" Arya said.

"Survive, Arya. I will beat them all. Day at a time, I suppose."

* * *

Tyrion Lannister stood at the River Gate, looking over the southeast wall and the wharves of Blackwater Rush. Ser Jacelyn Bywater commanded a full battalion of mounted gold cloaks, and Bronn's thugs attended, as well as unwashed savages from the Vale. Even the fetid odors of the Docks could not mask the stench of the Burned Men and the Stone Crows. Tyrion would have moved upwind, but then he could not see the approaching banners.

"Pod. Describe the arms you see and tell me which houses they represent."

Podrick Payne lowered the great banner that he struggled to carry - a black crowned stag and a gold lion on a gold and crimson field. The two mighty beasts faced off, hooves and paws ready to strike each other. "A golden rose on a green field. House Tyrell. A yellow tree on a silver field. House Rowan. A white tower crowned in flames on smoke grey. House Hightower. A red archer shooting an arrow on a green field. House Tarly. A red apple.."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Who cares what the damn banners say?" Bronn said. "How many swords did the Reach bring to King's Landing?"

Tyrion sniffed. "Someday, knowledge of heraldry may save Podrick's life." Bronn shook his head and rolled his eyes. Tyrion looked over the vast host, a thousand lances, five times as many spears, with Tarly archers, and a dozen other houses with spears and pikes, maces and hammers. The ring of iron and steel stretched as far as the eye can see. "Nearly 10,000 men. And the bulk of their fighting force marches north of Tumbleton to the riverlands." The Tyrells had sent an enormous show of force to King's Landing. Did they mean to encamp so many men at the capital? Suddenly, Tyrion realized exactly why his Lord Father needed more men. Gold cloaks, the mountain clans and sellswords did not match this one quarter of the Reach army.

Tyrion gritted his teeth and rode forward on his palfrey, with Bronn and Pod following. He put on an amiable smile to hide his mounting concern. He rode to the elegant wheelhouse, decorated with golden flowers. A tall bearded knight with the curly brown hair and large brown eyes of the Tyrells opened the door. A slender pretty girl stepped out, clad in green and gold. She helped an wizened woman with sharp and shrewish eyes stand. Behind the wheelhouse, half a dozen great lords rode, escorted by a guard of many knights. "Well met, my lords. His Grace, King Joffrey, bids you welcome and hopes you find ." Tyrion began.

"Where is the King? And where is your sister, the Queen? Why did they not come to meet us?" Lady Olenna said sharply.

"You must forgive my grandmother. We have come a long way in a short time, and rest and refreshment are much needed. We had hoped the king would welcome us to the city, and the queen would guide us to the Red Keep." the girl said sweetly.

"As Hand of the King, I speak for his grace. Ser Jacelyn Bywater, Lord Commander of the City Watch, will direct the gold cloaks to see to your men's lodging. Rooms have been prepared in the Red Keep for your party." Tyrion said.

"I am to be the King's Hand." A large man in green and gold armor on a struggling white charger said. Mace Tyrell was a bit over forty name says but his fat and grey beard made him seem as old as Lord Tywin.

"I would be happy for you attend Small Council meetings now, Lord Tyrell. Once, the troubles in the Riverlands are over, I will give up my office and the Tower of the Hand." Tyrion said.

Mace Tyrell was mollified. His mother was not. "We demand the empty Small Council seats now. Mathis Rowan will be Master of Laws. Jon Fossoway will be Master of Ships until Paxter Redwyne can sail from the Arbor. Where are the other Small Council members? Lord Baelish and Grand Maester Pycelle are not here to greet us."

That was a surprise. Littlefinger had brokered the arrangement, and the Master of Coin should have attended, if only to renew his acquaintance. Pycelle was his sister's man. And Varys was no doubt here, disguised as a dock worker or a begging brother. "I would happily call a Small Council meeting later today. So Lord Tyrell and your other bannermen may learn about the state of the capital." And discuss the end of the famine that you created, Tyrion thought. Then the bells began to ring.

The Old King Jaehaerys the Wise commissioned twenty three cast bronze bells from Essos and placed them in the three level belfry in the Red Keep. They were not as large and imposing as the Three Bells of Norvos but the sound could be heard throughout the city. "Are we under attack?" Ser Garlan cried.

The bells rang sixteen years before to surrender the city during the Sack but most often, bells tolled to warn citizens of battle and to direct smallfolk and ladies to stay in shelter. Tyrion had men watching the Kingsroad. The Tyrell army was the only one for miles. Stannis was sailing from Storm's End but he did not have enough men. "I do not know." Tyrion admitted.

Lady Olenna looked at him in disbelief. A fierce bald man with a bristling grey beard began to shout orders, and Ser Garlan took charge of the lances. Lord Fossoway, Hightower, Ashford, and Rowan galloped back to their men. War horns sounded and the Tyrell army unfolded like an iron rose with steel thorns. "Shouldn't we find out why the bells are being rung?" Bronn asked.

"The bells are near the great hall. I will lead the way." Tyrion said, trying to take charge.

"Lord Hand, the Blackwater. The river is on fire." Bywater yelled. On the opposite side of King's Landing, green flames could be seen. Tyrion groaned when he saw the color.

* * *

The room next to the Iron Throne faced east on Blackwater Bay, overlooking thick stone parapets on the ramparts of the curtain walls of the Red Keep. Men rushed about the nests of catapults, launching small projectiles that exploded in the water below. A dozen ships were lit up in dark, emerald and jade flames, an almost pretty sight if not for the corpses in the water and the smell of burnt flesh. Tyrion found King Joffrey guarded by three whitecloaks with Cersei, Baelish and Pycelle in the room. An old white bearded man in leather robes with the thick metal chain of a pyromancer yelled orders at the soldier below.

"What is going on here?" Tyrion asked. Bronn and Pod were by his side and the Tyrell family followed, with many lords from the Reach.

Baelish smirked and bowed slightly to Lady Margaery. "His grace saw enemy ships on the horizon. I informed him of your visit to the alchemists. He was eager to defend the city and summoned his loyal guildsmen."

"But Varys says that Stannis's fleet was seen a day ago, at Massey's Hook, sailing for Dragonstone. It would take them a week to approach King's Landing." Tyrion peered more closely down at the harbor. One ship with striped sails and a bank of oars might have been large enough to be a war galley or a troop transport. "These aren't ships from Storm's End or Dragonstone. You have burned merchant's cogs and fishing boats."

"His grace cannot make an error. He has defended the city from an attack by the Usurper's sell sails and pirates." Baelish said.

The other Tyrells stood in the corner, their eyes taking in the strange sight of wildfire shimmering on the Blackwater Bay. The Lord of Highgarden pushed forward. "Your grace, we are your loyal and true servants." Mace simpered.

Tyrion's head throbbed. Two sennights ago, Renly Baratheon was alive, and the Tyrells were in open revolt. He interrupted the introductions between his nephew and the Tyrells. "How many jars are down there? The wildfire cannot be exposed to heat or the sun. Hallyne told me the jars must be transported at night in carts filled with sand or sealed with wax. "

"I have ordered ten thousand more jars from the guild. I will roast the wolves alive." Joffrey shouted with glee.

The Reach Lords glanced at each other with concern. "Your grace, wildfire is treacherous. A fickle wind or a hit by a catapult stone, and it may be our troops that burn." Garlan said.

"Hallyne, you must bring the jars back inside. If they go on fire, there is not enough sand in King's Landing to put out the flames." Tyrion said.

The pyromancer began to babble on about experiments, duration, and how the substance flowed when Joffrey angrily interrupted. "You don't get to decide, dwarf. I am the King. I am going to show the Starks and the usurper what it means to cross me." he said.

"We only need to use wildfire if Stannis attacks with a large fleet. We do not need to set the Blackwater aflame to defend against one galley and a dozen fishermen. And by using wildfire today, our enemies will know about it." Tyrion said.

"What does it matter if they know? Let them fear me more." Joffrey said.

At that moment, a soldier outside dropped one of fat clay jars. The pebbled gray pot fell and hit the base of the wooden catapult. The green liquid leaked out, splashing the man and the stones nearby. For a moment, Tyrion thought the danger had passed. Then the second jar that soldier was carrying caught on fire and exploded, the liquid substance spraying high into the sky, and the flames shot high into the sky, a fiery green geyser that could be seen for miles. On the ramparts below, the screaming soldier ran back into the castle, and ignited catapult after catapult with their jars of wildfire. The nests, the crennels, the merlons - all of it glowed green as men tried desperately to escape to corner forts or crevices the flames had not yet reached. Heat made wildfire expand, and more clay jars hissed as the faint pop pop of lids could be heard despite the howls of the dying. The soldiers were all dead, Tyrion thought. Wildfire could burn for hours. Even if the catapult crews were not burnt alive, the heat on the parapet would be unbearable. They would be baked in a stone oven, if the walls did not crack and fall.

"Do something!" Joffrey yelled at the pyromancer.

Hallyne nodded obsequiously and then gathered his disciples. Tyrion saw the shock and disgust on the faces of the Reachmen. Lady Margaery though only looked worried, and Baelish remained impassive. Cersei soothed her sulking son. For now, none of this mattered. No one could do anything but let the wildfire burn. In the corner of the room, he saw Varys, the green flames reflected in the eunuch's cat like eyes.

* * *

A few hours later, Tyrion poured a cup of wine for the Spider in the solar of the Tower of the Hand. The flames still burned, and stories of the wildfire incident spread through King's Landing. The actual flames were confined to Blazewater Bay and the ruined curtain wall.

"How did Littlefinger find out about the wildfire?" Tyrion said.

"Ten thousand jars cost a great deal of dragons. An expenditure of that size cannot be hidden from the Master of Coin." Varys said. "My lord, I would be more worried about the message Baelish sent to the Tyrells."

"What message was that? He did not even greet the Tyrells at the gate." Tyrion said.

"Exactly. You were sent to meet the wheelhouse. Lord Baelish was with the king, whispering into his ear. Do you remember the riddle I told you that day at the inn?" Varys said.

"A king, a priest and a rich man. Each bids the swordsman to slay the other two. You said power resides where men believe it resides, a shadow on the wall. And that even a small man could cast a large shadow." Tyrion said.

"Why do men think the Hand of the King is powerful?"

"Because he speaks for the King." Tyrion responded.

"And do you speak for the King?"

"The King is a dunce who set an entire wall of the Red Keep on fire to burn down a few boats." Tyrion said.

"But without him, your shadow diminishes. You were feared because you had the mountain men, your father's order, and the office of the Hand. Now, there are many more gold cloaks and even more Tyrell swords in King's Landing. Your father was beaten in battle, and his army much reduced. And soon, you will not be Hand. Joffrey will reward Baelish for this alliance while Lannister influence weakens." Varys said.

"Anyone who considers my Lord Father weak is a fool. The Lord of Casterly Rock is not to be underestimated." Tyrion said.

"But his power has slipped, and Joffrey is no longer so pliable. You know about Aegon the Unhappy. He was named king when he had eleven name days. He was bullied by his regents. On his sixteenth name day, Aegon dismissed them all. Joffrey has fourteen name days. And as he nears his age of majority, his shadow will grow."

'In two years, my shit of a nephew will be Mace Tyrell's problem. Once the negotiations with the Starks are over, Joffrey will be wedded and bedded. I will be touring the Free Cities - as far away from King's Landing as possible." Tyrion said. He drank the full goblet of wine and ignored the smile on the Spider's face.

* * *

Arya Stark glared at the scrum of highborn lords meeting the emissaries from the Iron Throne. Tyrell guards and gold cloaks remained outside in the courtyard, but the four men from King's Landing were followed by a retinue of squires and servants. Her brother Robb looked on as Lady Whent offered the customary plate of bread and salt. In the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, her mother, the Rivermen, and even the Northmen treated Joffrey's minions with far more respect than they deserved. The cruelties of the last year had been forgotten.

"Arya, there's no need to scowl." Jon said. Her other brother had no titles or land, so he stayed with her while high ranking lords and nobles greeted each other.

"They are our enemies, Jon. They are probably here to spy on us." Arya said. Nymeria growled, her gray and white fur bristling.

"Perhaps, but with the Tyrells joining the Lannisters, we need to negotiate with the Iron Throne." Jon pointed out the Reachmen, a tall broad brown haired man and an older balding man with a short grey beard. "That is Ser Garlan Tyrell, the second son. He came to the Tourney at Riverrun. And the man is Randyll Tarly. He is said to be their best battle commander. I do not know much about Tarly but Ser Garlan was friendly with Robb."

"The red headed man is glaring at you." Arya said.

"Ser Addam Marbrand. He has every right to glare. I cut off his nephew's hand, and captured his good sister and brother at Golden Tooth. His father is a good man, and withdrew Ashemark from the war. Silver Hill and Deep Den followed after." Jon said. "Addam and Petyr Baelish represent the Crown. And Garlan and Lord Tyrell speak for the Reach."

"Why isn't Tywin Lannister here?" Arya asked.

Jon thought for a moment. "The last time talks failed, he sent his son Tyrion. He may mean to do the same - to see what we propose and then decide. Of course, there are other possibilities. House Lannister is weaker now, and Tywin may have to give way to the Tyrells. Or, Lord Tywin means to ignore whatever agreement the Iron Throne makes. By not attending, he does not bind House Lannister."

"I served as his cupbearer here, at Harrenhal. Jon, Tywin Lannister doesn't want to just kill you. He will try to destroy the Starks. He cares only about his house." Arya said.

"Did he mistreat you?" Jon said.

Arya bit her lip. "He is not cruel, which makes it even worse. He will use monsters to kill and torture and claim his hands are clean. He did not treat me poorly, but he would have given me to the Mountain if it would win him the war. He won't stop, Jon. If he means to kill you, why would he spare Robb or Sansa? Or even Bran and Rickon. He will kill them too."

Her brother did not anger easily but when he did, it was a terrible quiet rage. Jon stared at Lord Baelish, smirking and smiling as he greeted Lady Catelyn and Lord Edmure. Ghost's red eyes gleamed in the shadows and the dire wolf stepped forward, only to be held back by his master's hand. "You are right, Arya. We have been too complacent. We need to prepare for war."

* * *

Petyr Baelish and Garlan Tyrell faced Robb Stark and Jon Snow across the table. There were other lords and ladies in the great room, including her mother and Lady Whent, but Arya was certain that her brothers would handle the negotiations. Her uncle Edmure might be the new Lord of Riverrun but victory in battle, not titles, had brought the Iron Throne to the table. The Blackfish hovered nearby with Tully guards and the Northmen huddled behind Robb.

"I am certain we can come to an agreement. All of us here want peace. But it must be an honorable one. One where the interests of the Iron Throne are respected." Baelish prattled.

"The Iron Throne can go to hell. I want my sister, Sansa." Robb said.

"House Lannister will accept a trade of Sansa Stark for Ser Jaime Lannister." Addam Marbrand said.

"We have no problems with that." Garlan Tyrell chimed in.

Petyr Baelish frowned and looked apologetic. "I am not certain it will be that simple. Your sister has not been seen in King's Landing for some time."

"What has happened to Sansa?" Catelyn said.

"The Hand took her two weeks ago. She has kept under guard by his sellswords and savages, and no one has seen her since. Who knows what plans the dwarf has for her?" Baelish said.

"What are you saying, Lord Baelish? Has Sansa been harmed?" Robb demanded.

"Lord Stark. Lady Sansa was taken to the Tower of the Hand, but only after she was beaten by Joffrey Baratheon. Lord Tyrion took her to make sure she was safe." Garlan said.

"There will be no peace if my sister is not returned unharmed." Robb said.

Addam Marbrand glared at Baelish. "I have known Tyrion for a long time, since he was a boy. He is no monster who would harm young girls. And he cares very much for his brother. If you return Ser Jaime, he will release Sansa Stark."

Robb nodded. "We need to speak as well about the Riverlands. There will be no retribution for the Rivermen. No hostages, no stripping of lands. House Tully will remain as the Lord Paramount of the Trident. The Crown will not assess taxes or call the banners for the Riverlands for the next five years."

"His grace will not agree. House Tully has sworn fealty to House Baratheon. The duties to their liege lord must be honored. A bannerman cannot ignore his vow" Baelish argued.

"The Iron Throne swore to protect the Riverlands. Every field has been burnt, every town sacked, every village pillaged, every castle sieged south of the Blue Fork. The Iron Throne broke their oath to House Tully." Jon said.

"It will take years for the Riverlords to restore their strength. And the smallfolk have suffered enough from floods, looters, fire and war. Taxing the starving will not help." Robb said.

Randyll Tarly interrupted. "We do not need their men. The Tyrell army is more than large enough to protect the Iron Throne. The Reach is stronger than both the North and the Riverlands."

"Words are wind, Lord Tarly. But I doubt the Lannister army wants the swords of the Rivermen at their backs. The North is not the only place that remembers." Robb said.

"House Tyrell has no objection. My sister will be Queen for a long time. Five years passes quick enough. But Lord Stark, what of the North? What of your relation to the Throne?" Garlan said.

Robb exchanged looks with Jon. "Joffrey is a cunt. But so long as Sansa is returned, and the Riverlands are at peace, we will live with that. We are not likely to send gifts to the wedding, and if his grace calls the banners, the North may take a long time to answer."

Garlan Tyrell smiled. "That is more than reasonable. So long as the North is part of the Seven Kingdoms, my sister will be pleased. Once Lord Stannis is brought to heel, the Seven Kingdoms will have no need for large armies."

"What if the Iron Throne wishes you to come to King's Landing? To bend the knee?" Baelish asked.

"I marched south with sixteen thousand men. Next time, I will come with more. If Joffrey wants to open the gates to twenty five thousand Northmen, he can." Robb said.

"We have ten thousand men at King's Landing. And thirty thousand more at Tumbleton, Lord Stark. The Reach does not fear the North." Tarly harrumphed.

Garlan shook his head. "There is no need for this. Highgarden does not want war. As you say, the Riverlands have suffered enough. My sister wishes to be queen over the Seven Kingdoms. We have no quarrel with the Starks."

"And the North has none with the Tyrells." Robb said.

There was relief on the faces of the Riverlords. Her mother congratulated Lord Edmure, and the Northmen made plans to return home. Robb shook Garlan's hand, and Maester Tothmure prepared a raven. Baelish smirked, Tarly grunted, and Marbrand inquired about the Lannister prisoners. Only Arya noticed her brother Jon slipping quietly away.

* * *

Jon climbed down to the stern of the rowboat and Ghost leaped into the bow. With Chett and the Winter Town boys as crew, Maturin Manderly captained the river boat from Harrentown to the Isle of Faces. The water was surprisingly warm, and the surface rippled blue and green in the fading light of the sun. The Gods Eye was enormous - one hundred miles in every direction, and it took several hours to cross south to the island.

As he rowed closer, Jon could see the groves of weirwood trees staring out over the waters. Ten thousand years ago, the First Men and the children of the forest had fought a great war lasting centuries. On the Isle of Faces, the greenseers and the leaders of the First Men met to sign a Pact where the chieftains swore to stop cutting down weirwoods and leave the great forests to the Children. In return, the First Men would settle the open lands - coastland, high plains, bright meadows, moors, swamps, and mountains. Over time, the pact was broken but the Northmen claimed that was the fault of the Andal invaders, and the First Men and the Children had been friends for four thousand years. Jon doubted the tale. All men were greedy and the children greatly diminished by war. The stories were from too long ago, and so much was forgotten and much more had never been known. He regretted the loss.

All the trees on the Isle were carved with stern and sad faces - red eyes like the five pointed leaves of the weirwood trees. Jon knew the blood red came from the sap but here on this remote island, the trees seemed so alive and present. The wind sighed and the leaves rustled, and he could feel eyes watching him, a thousand red eyes on bone white faces. Shapes flitted about in the shadows, graceful and quick.

When Jon was a boy, Ned Stark had spent many nights speaking of the Age of Heroes and the children of the forest. They were here, Jon thought - the children, in the Isle of Faces, singing their songs of the Earth, living in villages hidden among the trees. Had they all died? Addam Velayron, dragon rider and bastard, had visited the Isle of Faces before falling bravely at the Second Battle of Tumbleton, fighting Tessarion and Vermithor. Had the children sang to him of his fate? This was a sacred place, and Jon bowed to the dragons that had come here before him. Ghost sniffed the air and headed deeper into the Isle. Jon followed.

He had walked for hours when Ghost stopped at a grove. Thirteen giant weirwoods stood, tall and dark, their faces turned inward. He saw the silhouette under the moonlit shadows of the trees - tall and lean, with long flowing hair so silver it was nearly white, in plate armor with a gold cloak. The man turned, and Jon noticed the tabard first - a bright red three headed dragon on a field of red and black. Dark Sister hung at his side but it was the face that revealed his identity - a face handsome as any prince but fiercer and more deadly than any man Jon had ever met. White hair, cruel eyes, a restless smile - prone to both mirth and rage - Daemon Targaryen.

"How are you here?" Jon asked in surprise.

"I died a hundred fifty years ago. Do you think this is real? Time does not flow in a straight line for weirwood trees or at the Isle of Faces. You know my tale. I died here, above the God's Eye." Daemon said.

"But why are you here, your grace?" Jon said.

He laughed. "You of all people do not have to give me a title. You are named after me. Your true name is Daemon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar. Ten generations separate us, but you are more like me than any of my children's children."

Daemon Targaryen was the hero and villain of the bloodiest war in the history of Westeros, the Dance of the Dragons. There were four conflicting accounts of the civil war between the Targaryens written by two maesters, a septon, and a lecherous dwarf but they all agreed on how the Dance began. Daemon was the uncle and husband of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her half brother, Aegon the Second, with a conniving Small Council, conspired to cheat the rightful heir out of her crown. Aegon the Grasping had the wealth of Oldtown, Lannisport and King's Landing, the support of House Hightower, the Lannisters, and the Baratheons, the sword Blackfyre, and he sat on the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra had Dragonstone and Daemon. Prince Daemon died at the God's Eye, killing Aemond and Vhagar, but his death and his actions in the Dance hurt Aegon and the greens immensely. Like the sigil of the three headed dragon, Daemon served fire and blood to his foes. And after the Dance, his son, Aegon the Third, sat on the Iron Throne. It was an unhappy reign.

Daemon was a skilled warrior, a crafty general, and an expert dragonrider. He was also a kinslayer, ambitious, reckless, amoral - easy to anger, and eager for revenge. When his stepson was murdered at Shipbreaker Bay by Aemond, Daemon had orchestrated the murder of Aegon's oldest son.** "An eye for an eye, a son for a son."** Prince Jaehaerys was only six years old when Daemon's sellswords butchered him in front of his mother Helaena. Even Maegor the Cruel had never slain kin that young.

"How are we alike? I have not committed your crimes." Jon said.

The rogue prince scoffed. "Names have power. You wanted to be a Stark, but your uncle hid you as a Snow. But that was a lie too. You are Daemon Targaryen and you are my true heir. "

"But how? How did I get your name?" Jon said.

"Your father, Rhaegar, was many things, good and bad - but not an original thinker. He wanted the same names as the Conquest - Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya. You were the third head of the dragon."

"I was supposed to be a girl?" Jon asked in shock.

Prince Daemon chuckled. "Thankfully not. Your mother, Lyanna Stark, the She-Wolf, was more than a match for your father. She named you after me. And so it goes. You will be the terror of your age - like the Daemons before you."

"Before me? But you said I was your heir." Jon said.

"You are the third Daemon. You have met the second - Daemon Waters, the Black Dragon. He was a dragon, just like you."

"Daemon Blackfyre nearly destroyed the kingdom." Jon said, thinking of the twelve year old boy he met in his dream.

"He never should have been a Waters. His father and mother were both dragons. Aegon the Unworthy was a fool. Daemon Blackfyre should have always been a Targaryen."

The first Daemon had bathed the Seven Kingdoms in blood to defend his niece wife's claim. The second Daemon rose up in rebellion and nearly won at Redgrass Field. And now he was the third. The third head of a dragon - carrying Daemon's name and Rhaegar's hopes. Jon would have laughed, if the whole thing had not felt like a curse.

"Your grandfather was a king. Your father should have been king. Your brother was a king. And your sons will be kings. But you will not be a king. That was my fate. That will be yours as well." Daemon said.

"Robb is not a king." Jon objected.

"Only because you pointed out that being King of the North and the River would be an error. The Starks need allies. I fought against Oldtown, the Stormlands and the Westermen. You have many battles ahead, and you will be outnumbered." Daemon said.

"I am not like you, Prince Daemon. I won't slay my kin, or order children killed."

"And what do you think Aegon the Second would have done to my wife and children? He fed his half sister to his dragon. He and Aemond conspired to kill his aunt Rhaenys, who would have been a better ruler than all of us. What will you do when your enemies hunt your family down? When the Lannisters and their allies take your pack and skin the wolves alive?" Daemon said.

"That won't happen. I won't let it." Jon said.

"You will do what I did, Daemon, third of my name. You will serve them fire and blood. Aemond the Kinslayer killed thousands when he burned the Riverlands. For thirteen days, I waited for him at Harrenhal, with only Caraxes at my side. The Dance ended a year later, but Vhagar's death doomed Aegon the Usurper."

"The heart tree at Harrenhal. You carved those marks on the weirwood when you waited for Aemond and Vhagar." Jon said.

"I did. There is magic in weirwood trees and in blood. I knew I would die to defeat Vhagar. Aemond was a cruel hateful boy. There are many of those in this world. The dragon was the true threat. Killing a fully grown dragon is not easy. Vhagar was twice as large as Caraxes."

"Was there no other way?" Jon asked. Daemon shook his head, a bitter smile on his proud face. "Blood will have blood. That was true when Valyria was young. You are a dragon. Do not forget that. Do not bow to lesser men."

* * *

Jon dreamt under the cover of the weirwood trees in the Isle of Faces. He walked past the ironwood door into the chilly and dark crypt. This was the Hall of the Dead, where eight thousand years of Starks were buried, stone kings on stone thrones. He heard drums, faint horns, and the sound of feasting behind the cavernous walls. He came upon the dire wolf, grey and ghastly, fur spotted with blood, golden eyes shining sadly in the dark. The wolf howled mournfully in the dream. Then the darkness became total, and he saw a blind girl, sleeping in a rag stuffed mattress on a shelf of cold stone. There was a pool ten feet across and the room was full of statues, a weeping woman, a lion headed man on a throne, a pale child with a sword, a hooded man with a staff. All the statues were carved out of black ebony or white weirwood. The blind girl's face was still as water as she ate sardines fried in fragrant pepper oil, a five foot wooden stick and beggar bowl at her side. Then he saw a tall graceful girl with lovely blue eyes and thick auburn hair. The maiden was at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping into the dark wine. The girl was whisked away to a castle built of snow held captive by a small man who pretended to be a giant. A wolf child cried for home, and wondered why his meat was raw and not applecakes or honey. An older boy stood in front of a skeletal old man with one red eye in rotted black rags trapped by tangled weirwood roots on a twisted throne. Brynden Rivers smirked, and Jon knew Bloodraven had seen him.

Jon gasped for air. He knew the faces of course - an older Arya, a graceful Sansa, and a tearful Rickon. He saw only the back of the last boy. The wolf was Grey Wind and Jon vowed that he would rain bloody vengeance on anyone who harm Robb's dire wolf.

"Your sight is strong, young one." The speaker, only a few feet tall, had nut brown skin dappled like a deer. The eyes - huge, liquid gold and green and slitted like a cat - matched the large ears, studded with green stones. The voice was high and sweet but also sad.

"You are a child of the forest." Jon was not certain if it was a dream or reality.

The speaker nodded. "Most greenseers need weirwood paste to experience visions. But on the Isle of Faces, it is easier to see."

"Do you have a name?" Jon asked.

"Leaf. I am the only one left who speaks the Common Tongue of Westeros."

"Are these visions real? Will they come true?" Jon asked.

"Who can say? The greenseers saw visions of things that had not happened but came to pass. Or perhaps your dreams are a warning. You saw your cousins scattered and broken. Mayhap, you can stop that, or your dreams will come true in this world and others." Leaf said.

"That is not very helpful." Jon said.

"Our greenseers saw that the children of the forest would fade away and dwindle over time. Like the giants, shadowcats, and mammoths. Even the time of the dire wolves will pass. One day, dragons will be only a fantasy for children. They saw this eight thousand years ago, in the Long Night, and our doom has finally come." Leaf said.

"I am sorry. I am sorry that the First Men and the Andals violated the Pact, and for the loss of your people." Jon said.

Leaf spoke in a weary tone. "What will be, will be. There is no room for us in this world of men, Daemon, son of Rhaegar. But I have a gift for you. The three eyed crow sent me from a cave near the Land of Always Winter. What do you know about my people?"

No one knew much about the children of the forest. They had no books, no parchment, or written language. Ancient scrolls, that predated the Citadel, said the children could create music so beautiful that it would bring tears to whoever heard it. "I know little. The children of the forest lived in Westeros long before the First Men. I know you hunted with weirwood bows and obsidian arrows and knives. You carved faces on weirwoods to keep watch over the land. And the children could use powerful magic." Jon said.

"Not all the children, but our wise men were strong in magic. The greenseers could send beasts against their enemies and turns trees to warriors. But dragons have magic too. Before the Doom, the dragonlords were great in sorcery, in fire and air. But there is another magic, different from that of ancient Valyria - water magic." Leaf said.

Jon knew about the hammer of the waters, a story that dated back twelve thousand years. The first time, the hammer shattered the Arm of Dorne, creating the Stepstones. The second time, the children tried to break Westeros into two, and created the Neck to separate the North from the other Kingdoms. The Maesters claimed that the hammer was not dark magic, but rather the melting of once frozen lands. Both attempts failed to halt the spread of men, and the children dwindled away. Jon wondered if the Rhoynar and the children shared the same magic.

"Water magic has not been used for one thousand years, not since the Valyrians drove the Rhoynar into exile from Essos. And I may be a Targaryen, but even the greatest Targaryens are not the equal of the ancient dragonlords." Jon said.

"You have the spark, Jon Snow, but the fire has not yet been lit. You are at the center of the Gods Eye, and this is the Isle of Faces. This is the last bastion of magic in Westeros for both good and evil. Remember. Use the water against your enemies." Leaf said before she disappeared into the red leaves above.

Jon groaned. He traveled to the Isle with the hope of finding some trace of his parents or a memento of his mother. From Bloodraven's hints, he guessed Rhaegar and Lyanna had visited the Isle of Faces. Instead, he was confused by dreams and prophecies. Daemon Targaryen was a riddle wrapped up in a mystery. If Jon did not find the key, House Stark would bleed. He fell into a deep slumber and dreamt of a dark haired maiden crowned with blue winter roses. She looked like Arya Stark.

* * *

Arya Stark stabbed her knife at the beets floating in the wooden bowl. The meal was poor - a thin gruel of cabbage, beets and parsnips, boiled fish, and a mound of mashed turnips. The river fish had been boiled in wine and vinegar to form a transparent jelly, a wiggling blob of pale white flesh. Arya thought that the dish looked disgusting. She was not alone.

Lady Shella Whent asked to host a grander feast for the envoys from the Iron Throne but Robb had denied the request. Her brother wanted the messengers to return to King's Landing but the rivermen were anxious to speak with the Reach Lords. Even little Lyman Darry, so virulently opposed to the Lannisters, hung on every word from Ser Garlan. Arya snorted in disgust.

"You cannot blame them, child." a calm Lady Ravella Smallwood said. In the absence of Jon, Arya was forced to sit with the ladies, and not her brothers. "The Tyrells will wield great influence in the capital. They have won the Game of Thrones."

"But they didn't do anything. They didn't fight. They didn't bleed." Arya hissed.

"And they are smarter for it. Isn't that better than seeing your lands burned? And your smallfolk dying of hunger?" Ravella said.

"I am sorry, my lady." Arya said. Acorn Hall had been attacked by foragers a few moons ago. Lady Ravella barred the gates of the small castle, only opening when a raven from Wayfarer's Rest brought news that Riverrun had been freed.

"You didn't start the war, child. I am grateful to Lord Stark for ending the fighting. When the madness began, I sent my daughter Carellen to my great aunt in Oldtown. I will be happy to have her return safe." Lady Smallwood said.

Arya was not certain if the war was over. Ser Garlan may have been amiable but Randyll Tarly was not a man who cared for peace. The Lord of Horn Hill stared at his fish and glared at the other lords. Tarly's thin lips curled up in a thin sneer as the Smalljon recounted loudly his bold deeds at the Red Fork.

"You are to be congratulated for your great victories, Lord Stark. No doubt the minstrels will sing of the Wolves battling on the Trident." Lord Baelish smirked.

"Minstrels? You think I am fighting this war so they will sing songs about me?" Robb said.

"Certainly not, but the tales of your feats in battle have spread far and wide." Baelish said.

Robb looked hard at Littlefinger. "I came south to rescue my father and my sisters. My father was killed as a traitor. The North will not forget that."

"There is no shame to bending the knee, Lord Stark. Balon Greyjoy bent the knee after his failed rebellion. Torrhen Stark bent the knee rather than face three dragons." Baelish said.

"The Iron Throne has no dragons." Robb said.

"They have the Reach. We have fifty thousand swords, spears, maces. We have more men than the Lannister and Stark armies combined." Randyll Tarly said.

"Pray forgive me, my Lords. I wish for some fresh air." Robb walked from the great hall. He motioned for his battle guard to remain. Ser Garlan stood up and followed. After the departure of the Tyrell knight, Arya slipped quietly away.

* * *

Arya found her brother at the Tower of Dread, looking over the great lake to the South. She hid in the shadows with Grey Wind as Ser Garlan spoke to her brother.

"I am sorry for that. Lord Tarly is not known for his diplomacy. Lord Baelish is, but I confess, I find the man rather sly." Garlan said.

"I do not trust Baelish at all. Neither does my brother Jon. We will be happier when Sansa is safe in our hands, and away from the rats in King's Landing." Robb said.

"Yes, about that." Ser Garlan cleared his throat. "When House Tyrell bargained with the Iron Throne, my grandmother insisted on the Lady Sansa to be delivered into our hands. She would not agree to Margaery's betrothal without that."

"And why is that, Ser? Lady Olenna has never met my sister." Robb said.

"We hoped for an alliance between House Stark and the Reach. My older brother, Willas, is unmarried and the Heir of Highgarden." Garlan said.

"I will not have Sansa freed only for her to be trapped in courtly games. If she becomes Sansa Tyrell, Joffrey would be her goodbrother. She will not be tormented any longer." Robb said.

"My brother has a good head and heart. And Highgarden is 700 miles away from King's Landing. With my father as Hand, a Tyrell has to remain in the Reach. And even with our armies on the march, we have five thousand swords and many knights still at Highgarden. Your sister will not be mistreated." Garlan said.

"And what do the Lannisters say about this?" Robb said.

"They do not know. We would announce it only after Margaery and Joffrey are wedded. Your sister would be long gone from King's Landing by then." Garlan said.

"House Stark will consider the proposal, Ser. But only if my sister Sansa agrees. I will not force her into a match. And Sansa will come with us to Winterfell first to see the bones of my father placed in the crypt with his ancestors." Robb said.

"My brother would like to send messages by raven. Is that acceptable, Lord Stark?" Garlan said.

"Robb. If we are to be good brothers, you can call me Robb. And yes. The happiness of my sister is important to me, Ser. When she is exchanged for Ser Jaime Lannister, I will tell her of the proposal from Willas." Her brother said.

* * *

Arya rubbed Grey Wind and left before Robb saw her. She was making her way back to the hall when she heard two voices, one familiar and the other not. She ducked back into a nook as they came closer.

"I am sorry to say, Cat, that I do not trust the Imp at all." Littlefinger's oily voice whispered.

"Surely, he will do no harm to Sansa. The Marbrand knight said that Tyrion values his brother's life and he attempted to rescue Ser Jaime from Riverrun." Her Lady mother said.

"Ser Addam is a valiant knight and true, but none, I think, have ever accused him of cunning. The Westerlands men are easily led about their noses. Lord Tywin values Jaime's life. He has been trying to get his oldest son released from the Kingsguard for years. If Jaime dies, Tyrion would be the undisputed Heir. I would not rely on the dwarf's mercy." Baelish said.

"Does he truly wish his brother's death?" Catelyn said.

"Dwarves are treacherous creatures - cruel and lustful, and no better than bastards. I have heard disturbing stories about the Imp. Tyrion Lannister was married before. He grew bored of his wife, and he made a gift of her to his father's guards. A hundred of them in one afternoon, while he watched. He may do the same with Sansa, after he is done using her." Baelish said.

Lady Catelyn blanched. "But surely Lord Tywin would not permit that."

"Lord Tywin knew. This was at Casterly Rock. He was disgusted with Tyrion for his lustful ways. No doubt that is why he desires Ser Jaime's return. Ser Jaime is the key to Sansa's return. If he is harmed in any way, I doubt anyone can save Sansa from the Imp's lechery. The Iron Throne will trade Sansa for Jaime, but the Imp may not allow it." Petyr said.

"And what can be done to ensure the exchange?" Catelyn said.

Nymeria bristled at her side. Arya put her arms around the angry dire wolf. She heard nothing more as Baelish and her mother retreated further into the hall.

* * *

Jon woke to the light of stars on the God's Eye. A comet burned red in the night sky, the color of blood and flame and sunsets. The long tail outshone the silvery moon. Smallfolk believed a comet was an omen of droughts and war, but for the Riverlands, that had already come. At the Citadel, the current archmaester of astronomy claimed the comet was a star falling through the clouds to the earth. The man was a fool, Jon thought, who pontificated without reason. Ancient records proved that comets were seen in the same position regardless of where the observer was in Essos or Westeros. Thus, the comet must be far away - certainly beyond clouds and storms and possibly past the moon.

"The comet heralds the return of the dragons. Blood and fire." Daemon Targaryen said.

Jon snorted. "I am sure in King's Landing, the grand maester claims it is Joffrey's comet, to announce the start of his glorious reign. The Faith will declare it a messenger of the Seven, bringing judgement from the Father. And the priests in Essos will say the comet means the return of their gods too, whether that is the Lord of Light or the Black Goat of Qohor."

"You are not a religious man. But you must know that comets do not burn so bright or so blood red. It is the color of our house, Daemon, the three headed dragon." the prince said.

Jon knew that. Even beyond Bloodraven, he had dreams of the dragonlords and a ruined city with topless towers buried in ash. He was the blood of ancient Valyria, a product of the Doom. He was the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. "Do not call me Daemon. It would be far too confusing if I called you Daemon and you said the same to me."

Daemon Targaryen chuckled. "Very well. What do your dreams tell you?

"That my mother gave me the name Daemon before she died. That my destiny does not lie North. Another dragon is alive - Rhaegar's sister Daenerys. They say her brother Viserys was killed but that she rules a khalasar of Dothraki." Jon said.

"Horse lords." Daemon spat. "They may be clever with horses but they are fools about everything else. They cannot make anything, or rule, or even live in cities. Daenerys Stormborn does not know how to rule. She needs your aid."

Jon rolled his eyes. Daemon Targaryen had failed as King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. After five pitiful years, he simply moved to Driftmark, abandoning the isles to pirates and rogues. "I will leave in the morning. I have to return to Harrenhal, and help my brother Robb make certain the Iron Throne will keep their promises."

"They will not. You were not made for peace. You are meant to fight, to kill, to lead men in war. To struggle against great odds. You are a conqueror, like Daeron the Young Dragon."

"Daeron Targaryen died young as did his Conquest. He was sixteen when he wrote his book. He died two years later, and lost the crown of Aegon the First in Dorne." Jon said. He did not mention that Daeron was slain by treachery under a peace banner.

"You will die too. Are you afraid of death?" Daemon asked.

"Death will come when it comes. You did not fear Aemond and Vhagar. Why should I be afraid of false stags and lions?" Jon said.

"Then I will tell you a secret. The Gods Eye is more than a lake and the home of the Isle of Faces. This place has power for our House. Three times, dragons have fought near the Gods Eye. The first time, Aegon burnt down Harrenhal with Balerion. The second time, Aegon the Uncrowned, son of Aenys, was slain by Maegor the Cruel. The third time, I drove Dark Sister through Aemond Kinslayer's left eye. The magic here will defeat your enemies." Daemon said.

"Targaryens have won and lost here. Three dragons died over this lake. You died as did Caraxes. How good could this magic be?" Jon said.

"You will die here, Daemon Targaryen. But you will not lose at the Gods Eye. Victory will be yours even if you fall. When I killed Vhagar, Aegon the Usurper was doomed. Yours is the song of ice and fire and you will win the Great War." he said.

"Why must you speak in riddles? Why can't prophecies be easy to understand?" Jon asked.

"Then it would not be prophecy. Remember - the Gods Eye. You will die here, but you will win." And Daemon Targaryen, the wonder and terror of his time, hero and monster, faded away, leaving a bemused Jon Snow behind.

**Author's Notes**

The weirwood tree at Harrenhal is mentioned briefly in Arya's chapters and also in** Fire and Blood** \- the history of the Targaryens. The history is good, but certainly not as interesting or vivid as the Game of Thrones, and worst it delayed **The Winds of Winter**.

Rain is a theme in Duncan and Egg. Bloodraven is blamed for a terrible drought in the second book - **The Sworn Sword**. It causes a conflict between Ser Osgrey and Lady Webber, that embroils Ser Duncan and Egg. At the end of The Sworn Sword, the rains return.

The King of the Trident is also known as the King of the Rivers. House Hoare, rulers of the Iron Islands, conquered the Riverlands but held it only for three generations, ending in Harren the Black. House Mudd ruled the Trident but their last great king, Tristifer IV, won 99 battles but lost the 100th against the Andal invaders. House Justman and House Teague also reigned but eventually the riverlands became a warzone between the Storm King and the Ironborn.

The words about Robert Baratheon are borrowed from Jon Snow's thoughts when he met the King at Winterfell. It is interesting that everyone in House Stark was good at judging people, except for Sansa. For the first couple books, her judgment is horrendous but somehow, she transforms from clueless to the great manipulator.

Beric Dondarrion's betrothed is Lady Allyria Dayne, the younger sister of Ser Arthur and Lady Ashara. She is Edric Dayne's aunt. In the book, Beric gives that speech at the Hollow Hill.

One day at a time is a quote from The Wire. Omar Little is asked how he survives eight years of robbing drug dealers. He says "Day at a time, I suppose." It is also a lense on how Jon thinks. Readers have asked what his big plans are. He is focused on the immediate steps to ensure House Stark wins.

The scene with Tyrion greeting the Tyrells mirrors when Oberyn Martell arrives at King's Landing after the Battle of Blackwater. GRRM spends an entire chapter on this, describing eight great Dornish houses (none of which are ever mentioned again) and lots of expensive clothes and nice horses. I thought Bronn would naturally say hurry it up. At that stage in the books and show, Tyrion has gotten demoted to Master of Coin. Here, he is still Hand of the King, but given they had to trade that to the Tyrells, he has already lost influence. And more importantly, so has Tywin. People might say Tywin should be feared still - but losing battles has consequences. In the show, Tywin sends Joffrey to bed after the Red Wedding. Tywin holds all the cards then - Stannis is beaten at Blackwater, Robb Stark is dead. The situation here is different.

Tywin Lannister's hands are clean - he just uses other people to commit his crimes. It is interesting the contrast between him and Roose Bolton.

**"Blood will have blood"** is a quote by Macbeth. It is commonly used to mean that a violent action will cause another. The actual use in the play is a bit different. Macbeth admits that he has used murder to gain power. He realizes that others may murder him to do the same. The blood of the murder victim will seek out the blood of the murderer, so one bloody crime will be avenged with another. Which if you think about it - when Daemon orders the murder of a six year old son, it shocks the royal family in King's Landing but it really shouldn't.

The ghastly grey wolf is from a dream Jon Snow has, right before Mance Rayder's army attacks the wall. It is one of the most absurd battle scenes - the notion that a hundred poorly train recruits can turn back an army of 100,000. And then you realize the wall is 700 feet high, and you wonder what idiot thought a wall that size could be stormed. The other shots are Arya as a blind girl in the House of White and Black (weirwood and ebony), Sansa at the Purple Wedding and the Eyrie, Rickon fleeing from Winterfell, and Bran meeting the Three Eyed Raven.

Personally, I think the cave paintings at Dragonstone are a moronic plot device, and cheating as plot exposition. It is a terrible date and an absurd deus ex machina, so Jon can babble about how everyone needs to join hands. He conveniently forgets that Cersei and Euron are not going to sing kumbaya. But then again, I don't see why Bran is the only one in the TV show who is supposed to have magical inklings of the future when in the books, Daenerys's dreams are very well written - and more prophetic. That's why Leaf appear directly to Jon. You can decide whether it is a vision or if the children can shadow walk to the Isle of Faces.

Daemon Targaryen was a riddle wrapped up in a mystery. The actual quote is from Winston Churchill when he talks about Russia in 1939. He says "I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia. It is a riddle, wrapped up in a mystery, inside an enigma."

In the books, the Tyrells try and fail to get Sansa to Highgarden for a betrothal with Willas. You can interpret that plot as mercenary - Theon is believed to have killed Bran and Rickon - so Sansa is Heir to Winterfell. There is no doubt the Tyrells know that, but Willas would almost certainly stay south in Highgarden. I imagine had the plot worked, the Tyrells would send one of Sansa's children to claim the North.

"Ser Addam is a valiant knight and true, but none, I think, have ever accused him of cunning." In the books, this is how Ser Barristan is described to Daenerys. Addam Marbrand is smart - it is just that Baelish looks down on others, and plays on the distrust of dwarves and bastards. You wonder whether that is just a Catelyn Stark thing or everyone feels the same way.

"Tyrion Lannister was married before. He grew bored of his wife, and he made a gift of her to his father's guards." Baelish tells Catelyn the same thing he tells Sansa Stark at the end of a **Storm of Swords**, after the Purple Wedding. Baelish is sailing with Sansa to the Fingers. He knows about Tysha and tells the lie. Is this to explain why Sansa doesn't give a crap about Tyrion in the next few books? It may just be to impress us about Baelish's research abilities. It made me wonder if Tysha was an open secret in the Westerlands.

The Red Comet appears first in two places. In Bran's last chapter in** Game of Thrones**, Maester Luwin sees it when the raven announcing Ned Stark's death arrives at Winterfell. It also appears as the first star of the evening at Drogo's funeral where Daenerys lights herself and the three eggs on fire. She considers it a herald of her coming, and in the** Clash of Kings**, the comet is called "King Joffrey's comet", the Red Messenger at Riverrun, and the Red Sword by Gendry. Everyone, even Aeron Damphair, lays claim to the comet as representing their own gods.

In regards to historical observation, Tycho Brahe is usually given credit for realizing that comets are astronomical phenomenons. The Greeks, led by Aristotle, believed that comets were a product of the atmosphere, a corruption of the air. Part of that is because they observed the flight paths and believed that comets did not follow an elliptical orbit. Late astronomers realized that comets did follow an orbit but a much longer one than nearby planets.

Daemon Targaryen was a great man and a monster. These words are attributed to Maester Gyldayn who wrote **The Rogue Prince**. In general, the three novellas, **The Rogue Prince**, **The Princess and the Queen**, and **The Sons of the Dragon** are attributed to GRRM while other parts in The World of Ice and Fire are written by Elio Garcia and Linda Antonsson. I have only read Fire and Blood which does not give a co-writer credit to the two others.

Daemon is a great character, although his actions are often morally questionable. His final fight was killing Aemond at the Gods Eye where he jumped from Caraxes's saddle to kill Aemond with Dark Sister as the two dragons were falling into the lake. Vhagar as one of the Big Three is much stronger than Caraxes. Needless to say, the scene is incredible, and if HBO ever remakes it, let's hope they spend a ton on the CGI. Jon will become more like the rogue prince over time - for good and bad. He will also be the wonder and terror of his age.


	25. The Mercy of Others

**The Mercy of Others**

"Lord Snow, the wind has died down." The captain said.

Jon nodded and Maturin Manderly walked away, leaving him on the rail alone with his thoughts. The riverboat was becalmed on the blue and green waters of the Gods Eye. To the South, he could see a faint trace of the island, as if the heart trees refused to let him go. Magic was strong on the Isle of Faces and it was more than just the children.

He played the words of Daemon Targaryen back in his head. Most prophecies were worth less than wind - the babbling of fools, charlatans and hucksters. Daemon was none of those, and his words had been blunt and forthright. He did not hide behind mummery when he declared that Jon would die in victory near the Gods Eye. The Rogue Prince committed many crimes in his wild and reckless adventures, but he had never been accused of lying.

Jaehaerys the Old King had lived a long and mostly happy life, dying a few moons short of his seventieth name day. He was the great exception. Most Targaryen princes died young. Daemon Targaryen had lived longer than most, dying at forty nine. Jon wondered what his namesake would have said to a witch or warlock predicting his death when he was young. He would have laughed or cursed, Jon thought - probably both. Prophecies were faithless creatures, likely to stab you in the back or kick in your head at the worst moment. Prince Daemon would not allow himself to be slain easily. He would defy his enemies and sell his life dearly. So will I, Jon thought. He did not care about the ravings of red priests or visions of dead dragon princes. What did it matter if he was Azor Ahai or the third head of the dragon? I will destroy my enemies. I will keep House Stark safe. The ancient Valyrians had known the truth of the world._ All men must die, but first all men must serve._

* * *

Jon listened with Arya while his brother Robb recounted Ser Garlan's offer. Arya had heard the tale already. The Tyrells wanted an alliance with the Starks and the Lannisters. The play was bold but greedy. Jon wondered how Joffrey would react to Sansa as his good sister.

"A marriage of Sansa into House Tyrell means we would be honor bound to intervene in any dispute between the Reach and the Lannisters." Jon said.

"We are not likely to support Joffrey in anything." Robb said.

"Not supporting Joffrey does not mean fighting for the Tyrells. We would be embroiled in disputes over the Iron Throne between the roses and the lions." Jon said.

"Do you think Joffrey would pick a fight with the Tyrells? He needs their swords." Robb said.

"Joffrey was betrothed to Sansa. Our father was Hand and Joffrey ordered his head cut off. Mace Tyrell is now Hand. Lady Margaery should not trust Joffrey's mercy." Jon said.

"There is another thing. Arya, tell us what you saw again." Robb said.

"I saw our Lady mother walking with Baelish near the Hall of a Thousand Hearths. He said that Tyrion would be the undisputed heir of Casterly Rock if Ser Jaime died. Baelish said the Imp might stop any exchange, and that he might rape Sansa, or have his guards do so." Arya said.

"His guards?" Jon asked in surprise. "What exactly did Baelish say? His exact words."

Arya screwed up her face in thought. "He said Tyrion had been married once, and grew bored of his wife. He gave her to his father's guards, a hundred of them in one day, and watched. Baelish thought - no he said that Lord Tywin knew but was disgusted with Tyrion for his lust."

Jon pulled his hands in fists under his chin. "Baelish is lying. I know the true tale. Tyrion was married when he was young - to a smallfolk girl. His father found out and had her raped as a whore by dozens of men. He forced Tyrion to watch, and his son never looked for the girl again."

"Lannisters. What a disgusting family." Robb said.

"That may be true, but there is a more immediate question to ask. Why is Baelish lying? Why is he trying to convince Lady Stark that the dwarf means to harm Sansa?" Jon said.

"My mother arrested Tyrion once already. She clearly doesn't trust the imp." Robb said.

"That explains why the lie works on Lady Catelyn, but it does not explain why Baelish would lie. His lie about the Valyrian steel dagger caused great trouble. Why is he accusing the dwarf about Sansa…. Wait - you have told her that Baelish is a liar?" Jon said.

Robb sighed. "She does not listen. The Tullys have always been stubborn. She grew up with him at Riverrun. I have told her not to speak with him but she says that Baelish is still fond of her. And that we can get no other news from King's Landing. She is frightened for Sansa."

"He is a creepy old man. And Nymeria dislikes him. We should kill him." Arya said with an angry outburst.

"Arya, we can't." Robb said shocked. "He has guest right at Harrenhal. And he came under a peace banner."

"The dire wolves have better senses than we do, but Littlefinger has left the castle already. Why is Baelish saying that Tyrion wants to keep Sansa in King's Landing?" Jon said.

"He wants the Imp to take the blame. They are going to keep Sansa and break their promises." Arya said.

"Fucking Lannisters." Robb said. Grey Wind growled angrily by his side.

"I think Arya is right. But who are they? Who will keep Sansa prisoner? And why?" Jon said.

"Isn't it obvious? We defeated Tywin at the Red Fork three weeks ago. The Tyrell army was five hundred miles away. Each week, they can over seventy miles. Martyn Rivers says scouts from the Reach have been seen near Blackwater Rush. And their men are already at King's Landing. If they continue marching, they will cross into the Riverlands. In a few more weeks, they will be at the southern tip of the Gods Eye and less than a hundred miles from Harrenhal." Robb said.

"Do you think the Tyrells mean to betray us?" Arya said.

"That is the problem. We don't know. But Robb is right. Every day, their men draw closer. And an army does not march five hundred miles for peace. We cannot harry their forces because that would start a war. But if they refuse to hand over Sansa…" Jon said.

"I will not leave the Riverlands without our sister. I will not allow her to be tormented further." Robb said.

"We don't know who is plotting to stop the peace. It might be Tyrion Lannister. It could be Tywin. It might even be some of the Tyrells. Even if Ser Garlan is friendly, he may not make the decisions. The Reachmen may be hungry for battle to prove themselves to the Throne. Or perhaps Joffrey or Cersei wish to keep Sansa prisoner." Jon said.

"Can't we do anything?" Arya complained.

Jon shook his head. "This is the fog of war, sister. If you want speed and force, you cannot have precision and certainty. It is hard to know the true strength and position of your enemies, or even who your enemies are."

"That is why it is better to attack. In every battle so far, the North has been on the offense, so we can determine the battleground. But now, we may have to defend. I prefer to attack.' Robb said.

"But isn't Harrenhal a strong castle? Can't we defend it against the Reach?" Arya said.

"Harrenhal has strong walls but allowing your enemy to trap you is not good strategy. We would lose our supply lines and be unable to defend the smallfolk. I do not wish to be sieged for many moons. I will not sit here while they pillage the Riverlands again." Robb said.

"It is better to defend than attack, sister. But it is best to attack with surprise. We can hope for the best, but expect the worst. The Reachmen believe their army is far stronger than ours. But any army can be beaten. We need to prepare for war." Jon said.

* * *

The light rains sweeping over the city did not bother Tyrion. For once, King's Landing did not stink of sour wine, horse piss, and nightsoil. Wagons of wheat, barley and apples arrived every day, the largesse of the Reach. Merchants, attracted by the high prices, sailed cogs into the harbour and drove caravans through the seven gates. Tyrion had countermanded Littlefinger's entrance tax. The desperation to seek shelter behind the city walls had faded, and the city needed to restart commerce.

King's Landing celebrated the tidings of the peace talks at Harrenhal. Even begging brothers stopped proclaiming that the city would be destroyed by the vicious Northmen. At Cobbler's Square and Flea Bottom, Tyrion was no longer called a freak who beguiled the wretched Joffrey into dastardly deeds. Joffrey was wretched and his nephew needed no help to be a villain. Tyrion pretended not to care about the words of others but no one enjoyed being called a twisted little demon monkey, not even by simpletons or smallfolk.

He sat down for his breakfast - porridge, honey, milk and crisp fried fish. The saltiness of the finger fish contrasted wonderfully with the sweetness of the honeyed porridge. All he needed for a complete meal was spiced wine, mulled with honey, cinnamon bark, cloves and crushed cardamon pods. Tyrion poured the milk over the oat porridge when Bronn ushered in his tired squire, fresh from the kingsroad.

"Ah, Podrick, come join me." Tyrion declared. "How was Harrenhal? I imagine the Starks treated you more gently than our debacle at Riverrun."

The skinny boy flushed a bit but managed not to stutter. "Pardon, my lord. I never managed to get into Harrenhal. Lord Tarly ordered most of us to stay outside the castle. Very few squires, only those directly serving the envoys, entered the Hall."

Tyrion took a bite of fish. "So you were unable to deliver the letter."

"No, my lord." Podrick took off the small piece of parchment sewn into his belt. "Lord Baelish watched everyone, even the squires, closely. I slept with the letter in my tent and stayed away from Baelish and his guards."

"A pity that you didn't learn anything new." Tyrion said.

"I did, my lord. I managed to speak to Josmyn Peckledon. He is Ser Addam Marbrand's new squire - the old one was killed at the Red Fork. He was in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths and saw the Young Wolf and the Bloody Wolf at the negotiations." Podrick squeaked.

Tyrion had met Androw Peckledon, a minor knight with a small keep near Lannisport. "And did this squire have anything interesting to say?"

"Peck was surprised - the Northerners were not the wild savages he expected. He said that Robb Stark was noble and honorable, and that Jon Snow was not a raving monster." Pod said.

"We knew that already. They spared our lives at Riverrun in the hope of peace." Tyrion said.

"There is more, my Lord. Peck found out from the squires of the Riverlords how Harrenhal fell. The Brave Companions betrayed House Lannister and captured Lorch and the Westermen. Snow promised that none of his men would harm him, but Hoat had tortured many prisoners. Snow had Ser Herrock of Kenning beat the Goat half dead and then hung on a cross to die."

Clever, Tyrion thought. Snow had not violated his oath. "And did Ser Herrock join the Goat on the gallows?" Tyrion said.

"No, my Lord. Peck was very surprised. The White Wolf treated Ser Herrock with great respect. He was allowed to return to Kayce and his wounds were tended."

"Without a ransom?" Tyrion raised his eyebrows. His squire nodded. That was odd. The Bloody Wolf was not known as a generous enemy. "Wait, what happened to Lorch?"

"Who, my Lord?" Pod said.

"Ser Amory Lorch. My Lord Father left him as Castellan at Harrenhal." Tyrion said.

"I don't know. Maybe the Brave Companions killed him. There was no sign of him at Harrenhal or in the Hanging Forest. " Pod said.

A growing sense of unease ruined Tyrion's breakfast. "Pod, did Peckledon think the North was to be trusted?"

"Peck says the rivermen believe the Starks honorable but that if angered, would wreak bloody havoc. They fear Jon Snow more than Robb Stark." Pod said. Tyrion thought that Peck's assessment was accurate. He would not like to be dragged before the wolves again.

* * *

Tyrion entered the Red Keep, Bronn and several other handpicked sellswords trailing. The inner yards bristled with dozens of new faces, hundreds of new gold cloaks drafted from the Crownlands. Only Sandor Clegane was familiar. The newest member of the kingsguard refused to be knighted or change his battered grey plate, making a mockery of the White Cloaks. He sat with Varys and opposite Pycelle at the First Small Council meeting since the talks with the North. Baelish walked into the room with Joffrey.

"Well? Why hasn't the meeting begun?" Joffrey asked as he took his seat.

"Your grace, we must wait for the Reachmen. Mace Tyrell, Mathis Rowan, and Paxter Redwyne have yet to arrive." Tyrion said.

"That just shows your lack of knowledge, uncle!" Joffrey spat.

"Mace Tyrell rode this morning to Tumbler's Falls to meet the main host. He believes that Lord Tarly and Ser Garlan require his sage advice. Paxter Redwyne is with the royal fleet, preparing an attack on Stannis at Dragonstone. And Mathis Rowan." Baelish chuckled. "His daughter was caught in bed with a minstrel last night who fled the inn. I offered my men to find the raper so Lord Rowan can send him to the Wall."

None of the Reachmen were present, and Littlefinger smirked. This meeting clearly would not be about planning the royal wedding. Tyrion looked about for a pitcher of wine.

"Lord Baelish, I congratulate you on your dealings with those savages from the North. For that, you will be named Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Paramount of the Trident." Joffrey commanded.

"But the Throne has promised that no titles or lands be stripped from the Rivermen." Tyrion said.

Joffrey waved the objection away. "And what happens when the Northern army retreats? No one respects this new Lord Tully."

"The honor is greater than I deserve, your grace, but I must recount a troubling observation. After our negotiations concluded, Robb Stark stormed off like a petulant boy. But only a moment later, Ser Garlan followed him to converse in secret." Baelish said, feigning concern.

"So?" Joffrey said.

"But your grace.." Baelish said. .

"Lord Baelish, did you overhear their conversation?" Tyrion said.

"No, Lord Hand. They conversed in secret." Baelish said.

"Then, the talk might be nothing. We know that Robb Stark travelled to Bitterbridge. The Lords of the Reach did not give him any aid then. Why would that change now?" Tyrion said.

"My little birds say that Ser Garlan struck up a friendship with Lord Stark when he visited the Reach and the Stormlands. Perhaps he thanked him for saving his goodbrother, Renly, from the shadow assassin before he sadly passed." Varys tittered.

"Who cares what Ser Garlan said to Robb Stark? The wolves leave after the exchange of my uncle Ser Jaime. Good riddance." Joffrey said.

"But your grace, what if they don't leave?" Baelish said smoothly. "What if they stay? They are only a few days from King's Landing. Without Sansa Stark, they might ride down the kingsroad. If the city gates are opened to them, there could be another sack."

Joffrey turned a ghastly white. He clenched the arms of his chair tightly. "Do you think Ser Garlan means to betray me? Should I put his head on a spike on the Royal Gate?"

"No, no." Baelish rushed to assure him. "Ser Garlan is valiant and true, and your future good brother. I mean Robb Stark and this cruel Jon Snow are evil men who might see your mercy as an opportunity. You must guard yourself against their faithlessness. They may find traitors willing to betray you, my king."

Littlefinger did not need to stab others in the back, Tyrion decided. The Master of Coin was skilled in open deceit. "Baelish, these are wild accusations. What proof do you have? You did not hear what Ser Garlan said. The North has agreed to peace. The Tyrells are allied with the Iron Throne. You have invented a conspiracy out of thin air."

"I agree, your grace. There are no ravens flying from King's Landing to Harrenhal or Riverrun." Pycelle said. "My apprentices keep careful watch."

Joffrey relaxed. "I want the heads of any traitors. No one can threaten me - no one. I want to be alerted of any plots, any hints of treason, any sign of Northern treachery." He stormed off, Sandor Clegane guarding his back.

Tyrion glared at Littlefinger. "What are you playing at, Baelish? Why set Joffrey against the Tyrells?"

"I defended Ser Garlan." Baelish retorted. "Surely, you do not trust the Starks. They still want revenge against Joffrey. What is the saying? The North Remembers."

"Who could forget? Joffrey's first action was to chop off the head of the Hand and the Warden of the North. No wonder he is known as the Good King Joffrey." Varys said.

Baelish stood up, a smirk on his sly face. "My Lords, I go to the Eyrie this night, to woo Lady Lysa Arryn for the Iron Throne. I am sure you will be doing your duty to his grace by organizing the royal wedding. Enjoy planning the fifty dishes with Lady Olenna."

As Littlefinger sauntered out, Tyrion wondered what had just happened. Baelish obviously planned the seduction of Lord Rowan's daughter to remove any Reachmen from this meeting of the Small Council. But if he was leaving King's Landing, then what did the Master of Coin have to gain by fueling Joffrey's paranoia? Tyrion realized that he had missed something in the play. He hated that feeling.

* * *

When the war horn blew, Arya scrambled from the smithy to the steps of the Tower of Dread. No army approached from the East or the West. The South was quiet, with a few riverboats docked on the shore of the Gods Eye. The cloud of dust came from the North, and Arya could see horses and armored men riding on the road. Even this far away, she could see the sky blue on saddles, helmets and shields : the colors of the Vale.

"The numbers are too few to be the Knights, Cat." Ser Brynden Tully said to her mother. The Blackfish stood with Lady Stark, Lord Edmure and Lady Whent, ready to receive their visitors. Robb waited behind, his honor guard at his side.

"They are not bearing any banners." Jon said quietly.

Her brother was right. Arya could see sigils on sleeves and tabards- a red castle on a white field, a black broken wheel on green, five silver arrows pointing up, a yellow burning tower - but none of the riders carried banners. A man in red rune marked armor hailed Robb.

"Lord Stark, I bring men from the Vale who would fight with you." the man said.

"I thank you, Ser Robar." Robb said warmly

"Allow me to introduce some of our best knights. Ser Mychel Redfort. Ser Roland Waynwood, and Ser Elbert Bellmore." Robar said. They were quite young, not more than a few years older than her brother Robb. Arya wondered if they had been knighted recently.

More riders on destriers entered the yard. The Vale men were all mounted, with no footmen or archers. There were a few wagons, and Arya was surprised when Hot Pie grinned at her from the top of a cart pulled by two mules.

"Ser Robar, did my sister give you leave to join us?" Catelyn Stark asked.

"Lady Arryn forbid any of us from leaving the Vale. But Roland's uncle is now the Knight of the Bloody Gate, and he would not imprison us." Robar said.

"Our fathers would fight with Ned Stark but they cannot disobey House Arryn. We are mostly second and third sons." The knight with the broken wheel said.

"You are a first son, Ser Roland, but your father is Heir to Ironoaks, and your grandmother Lady Anya. Do your houses know that you have come?" Brynden Tully asked shrewdly. Ser Robar nodded, as did several other companions.

"How many are you?" Robb asked.

"Seven hundred." Ser Robar said.

"So few?" Edmure Tully grumbled. The Lords of the Vale could field an army greater than twenty thousand. Seven hundred was smaller than the forces of a single Northern bannerman. Even one remote mountain clan could provide more men.

Robb stepped forth and quieted the disappointed murmur in the crowd. "You are welcome, Sers. The North thanks you for remembering my father Lord Stark's ties to the Vale. Join us for meat and mead. You are the guests of House Stark at Harrenhal."

* * *

Arya escaped the hustle and bustle by hiding in the armory. While servants at the castle prepared for the feast, Jon took inventory of the newly forged armor. Her brother decided that gauntlets and vambraces would be too cumbersome given the weight of the long pike. Each pikeman was issued a thick breastplate, cut open at the shoulders, tassets to protect the upper thighs, and a sturdy helmet. The helmet looked like a wide brimmed farmer's hat, only in steel. Padded linings held by rivets made the helm more comfortable and allowed for steel ear flaps or cheek plates. The deep bowl absorbed missile fire and the wide turned down brim would protect from a sword slash to the head.

Soldiers, Winter Town boys and smallfolk rushed about, relaying Jon's orders to the noisy and full smithy. Arya knew that she should be doing the same. But if her Lady mother saw her, she would be dragged off to be bathed, scrubbed, and forced into a gown. She wanted to go to dinner as a squire, bearing Needle, not a marriage prize. Her gold and crimson brigandine was better than any dress.

The door opened, and a knight from the Vale walked through. He wore a red castle on a white field within a red embattled border over his mail shirt. He was young, with a serious look but mild eyes. He hesitated for a moment and then spoke. "Are you Lord Snow?"

"I am, Ser." Jon said. Her brother put away the high combed helmet.

"I would be glad to speak to you, my Lord. May I be granted a private audience?" he said.

Jon nodded, and the smallfolk and the Winter Town boys rushed out. Arya stayed, her hand on Needle, and her eyes firmly on the knight. "Arya Stark is my squire and my heir. She has my complete trust." Jon said.

The man nodded. "Lord Snow, my name is…."

"Ser Mychel Redfort. You are Lord Horton Redfort's fourth son by his third wife, Lady Edwina Tollett." Jon said.

The knight's eyes bulged in surprise. "But how did you know? Can you read minds?"

Jon shrugged and pointed to the large leather book on top of the shelf. "Hardly. That is the History of the Greater and the Lesser Houses. After Ser Robar's introduction, I looked up your name, as well as Roland Waynwood and Elbert Bellmore."

The knight nodded. "I have come to ask a great favor - that you might intercede for me with your brother, Lord Stark. I would pledge my sword to him but I hoped he might grant me a small keep in the North."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "Why ask me, Ser? Why not speak to Robb directly?"

"Lord Stark is rather busy. He is always surrounded by Northmen and Rivermen - and I thought you might look favorably on my reasons." Ser Mychel soldiered on. "There is a girl I love. I would marry her if I had my own lands."

"Your father rules a rich house. Why does he not…" Jon stopped for a moment. "He does not approve of your marriage."

"He wished me to marry Ser Robar's sister. Ysilla and I are friendly but I love Mya Stone."

"A bastard?" Arya asked in surprise.

"Clearly, by the name and Lord Redfort's disapproval. Who is Mya Stone?" Jon asked.

"The king's bastard. Robert Baratheon was fostered in the Vale. He fathered her on some commoner and then promptly forgot. I was squired at the Eyrie and met her there." Mychel said.

"And you want to make her your lady?" Jon said.

"Mya, a lady!" Ser Mychel laughed out loud. "She curses more than me. She would rather wear leather than a dress. All I wish is a small holdfast and a few villages, so we could stay together. You are a bastard too. You know the cloud that hangs over Mya."

"I am no matchmaker, Ser. Does the girl care for you as well?" Jon said.

"She gave herself to me." Ser Mychel said. "And I to her."

"What does that mean?" Arya asked aloud.

"It means Ser Mychel does not wish to dishonor her. Very well. I will speak to Robb." Jon said.

"Thank you, my Lord." Ser Mychel said gratefully. Her brother nodded and turned back to the armor for the pikemen.

* * *

For a giant castle, there was no place for a knight to swear his fealty. There were too many watchers in Flowstone Yard or the Barracks Hall. Lady Whent was preparing the Hall of a Hundred Hearths for a banquet. The sept in front of the Tower of Ghosts had been ruined by dragonfire and not used for three hundred years. Finally. Robb decided on the entrance to the godswood, but far away from the heart tree.

Ser Mychel knelt, with the sword pointed down to the leaf infested ground."I offer my services, Lord Stark. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for you and yours. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Robb took the hilt and laid the blade on Mychel's shoulder. "I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise."

A dozen guests attended the ceremony. Robb and Jon, the Blackfish, the Greatjon and several Northern heirs, Ser Robar Royce, and Ser Roland Waynwood. The two knights were happy for Ser Mychel, although it meant he would not return to the Vale. Arya knew that Bran and Rickon would one day swear an oath to Robb when he granted them a keep. She bit her lip and wondered if one day, she would hold lands for either of her brothers. Arya was still thinking about that possibility when they rounded the corner near the armory.

She barely avoided Gendry, who was carrying half a dozen steel breastplates from the smithy. Ser Mychel looked at the blacksmith in shock, and stopped in mid step. "You are her brother." the stunned Valeman said.

"Pardon, my Lord?" Gendry asked.

"My betrothed. You look just like her." Mychel said. "Tall, broad, thick black hair, and blue eyes."

"I do not have a sister." Gendry said.

"You have one in the Vale. And I will be your good brother soon." Mychel said.

"I am a bastard from King's Landing." a puzzled Gendry asked.

Jon stepped forward. "Ser Mychel intends to marry Mya Stone. Her father was Robert Baratheon. Gendry, you are the son of the King." In shock, Gender dropped the armor, and the breastplates crashed onto the ground.

* * *

"How can we be certain about this Gendry? Mychel Redfort may be mistaken." Catelyn Stark said. Robb had retired to the Tower of the Dread to investigate the matter further. The solar had seen better days but it was spacious enough for the Tullys, Starks and a few retainers.

"Gendry is right here, Mother." Arya said. She sat with her friend who was still stunned by the revelations.

"Ser Mychel seems certain." Robb said.

"Lady Stark, I had not realized that before but Ser Mychel speaks the truth. The boy looks like a young Renly, and everyone says that Renly was the very image of Robert. His jaw is squarer and his brows bushier. The boy's hair is dirty but it is the same coal black…." Brienne said.

"We don't need to rely on guesswork. Arya and Gendry were attacked by gold cloaks and Lannister soldiers on the Kingsroad. Arya thought they were searching for her, but they were hunting for Gendry. Now we know why." Jon said.

"When they captured us, Lorch demanded that we hand Gendry over. Lommy was already dead so I told him that was Gendry's body." Arya said.

"But what does it matter then? The Lannisters think he is dead." Edmure Tully said.

A dozen men had heard Ser Mychel's words, and most were not in the solar. Arya was not paranoid by nature but news of Gendry's identity would spread quickly.

"Gendry is a clear threat to the Iron Throne. The Lannisters will try to kill him again." Jon said.

"But why? I am just a blacksmith's apprentice from Flea Bottom." Gendry burst out.

"Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were sired by the Kingslayer. They are not stags. Robert and Renly are dead. Stannis has only a daughter, tried to kill his brother, and worships a fire god. You may have the best claim to House Baratheon." Jon said,

"Not just House Baratheon, but the Iron Throne." Robb said.

"I am just a smith. All I know is the forge. I can't even read." Gendry said, panicked.

That was true, Arya thought. Gendry was happiest polishing helmets and beating on swords with hammers. He liked the idea of ruling over smallfolk as much as she did.

"We should send him away." Catelyn said. "The Lannisters will be angered by his presence."

"My father, Lord Stark, would not allow his friend's son to be murdered by the Lannisters and neither will I. Gendry, the North will protect you." Robb said.

Arya elbowed Gendry in the ribs and hissed. "Say something, stupid."

"I am thankful…... I don't know nothing about being a lord, my lord." Gendry stammered.

"The boy will need guards. And we must know where he is at every moment." Catelyn said.

Before Arya could complain, Jon nodded to Gendry. "It is for your safety. They will find out who you are. Tell Lucan and Ben Blackthumb that you work for me directly now."

"Yes, my Lord." Gendry said. "Can I continue in the smithy?"

"Aye, but stay close to my Winter Town boys. Pretend that nothing has happened at the feast. The news will come out soon enough. No need to hurry." Jon said.

* * *

After the banquet, Arya sought out Jon. He had left the meal early, exiting after the dish of roasted squabs in a creamy mushroom sauce. Gendry was still dazed, incapable of more than eating, drinking and uttering a few words. Through the meal, many eyes looked at the blacksmith with great curiosity - lords, knights, and ladies. Even Hot Pie had asked as he served a loaf of freshly baked dire wolf bread. Now that Arya was revealed as a Stark, and Gendry was Baratheon, Hot Pie wondered if he too was a long lost noble - perhaps an Arryn or a Tyrell. Arya doubted that very much.

Arya heard the voices of her two brothers behind the solar door.. The three dire wolves guarded the entrance, and she stepped in.

"They already know about Gendry." Arya declared.

"Who are they?" Robb asked.

"My friend, Hot Pie. He was helping out in the kitchens." Arya said.

"His dire wolf bread is very good. The Heddles sent him from the Inn at the Crossroads to guide the Valemen to Harrenhal." Robb said.

"What will happen to Gendry? Will you make him into a lord?" Arya said.

"Robb is not a king, and only kings can legitimize a bastard." Jon said.

"Even if he was Gendry Baratheon, it would not get us men. Gendry has never been south of King's Landing. Black hair and blue eyes are not enough, and any Stormlanders would have to travel past the Tyrell army to make it to the Riverlands." Robb said.

"I am more worried about something else." Jon said. "Who knew about Gendry at King's Landing?"

"What do you mean?" Robb asked.

"Gendry was apprenticed to Tobho Mott. The name is Qohorik and they are known to be skilled blacksmiths. Who paid his commission? And then who betrayed him to the Lannisters? How would they know that Gendry was Robert's bastard?" Jon said.

"Gendry was Robert Baratheon's issue but the king was always drunk. It would be the Hand that would take care of such matters." Robb said.

"Of course, and Jon Arryn likely knew about Gendry. But Jon Arryn died. And it is possible that Lord Stark knew but then he died. Neither Jon Arryn nor Ned Stark would have told the Lannisters. How would they know who Robert's bastards were? He was rumored to have more than a dozen." Jon said.

"What if there were records or letters somewhere? That might prove that Gendry is Robert Baratheon's son." Arya said.

"Excellent, sister. Someone has those records, and gave them to …" Jon thought aloud. "Did that person tell Cersei or Joffrey?"

"Why not Tywin? Or another Lannister?" Robb said.

Jon shook his head. "Tywin and Jaime were fighting in the Riverlands. Tyrion was either at the Eyrie or travelling to Lannister forces. Joffrey had just become king. Perhaps to curry favor, someone told Joffrey who Robert's true heirs were. Gendry was forced to leave King's Landing to go to the Wall. Someone also informed his master."

"But it can't be the same person. Why would you tell Joffrey and warn Gendry?" Arya said.

"The better question is who would warn Gendry. Feeding Joffrey information makes you valuable to the throne. But why would they warn Gendry's master ? It could not be any of his uncles - if they cared, they would have men take him directly to Dragonstone or Storm's End." Jon pursed his lips in deep thought. "I have a guess who told Joffrey, but I do not know who spoke to Tobho Mott."

"Who told Joffrey?" Robb asked.

"The most likely person is Baelish. He worked for Jon Arryn. As Master of Coin, he handled payments the Crown made to the king's bastards. Robert was a whoremonger and a drunk. Baelish owned brothels. That connection is obvious. But I do not know who arranged for Gendry's departure from King's Landing. Someone is working against the Lannisters. Or at least for Joffrey." Jon said.

"They may not care for the North either. Just because they want to spare Gendry, does not mean they will make a trustworthy ally." Robb said.

"You are suspicious, Robb. That is good. It will give us a better chance of survival." Jon said.

"You are worried about Joffrey's plots?" Arya said.

"Joffrey is not the plotter. He is being played by others - but we do not know who. The war will not end until all of us, including Sansa, are safe back in the North." Jon said.

* * *

Tyrion raised the fork of baked eggs to his mouth, pretended to chew, and then placed the food down, hidden by the untouched wine goblet. Varys gobbled the small goat cheese and potato tarts with gusto with delicate fingers, like a spider devouring hapless flies.

"If I were to poison you, it would not be with eggs." Varys giggled.

Creamy baked eggs with herbs and bacon had been one of Tyrion's favorite dishes at Casterly Rock. The dwarf sighed and ate. The food was delicious but he expected no less from at the mansion of the Master of Whispers. "I wanted to ask if you knew Baelish's whereabouts. Bronn saw one of his guards at a brothel. That seems strange if he left for the Vale."

"Petyr Baelish enjoys confusing his enemies. The Merling King waits at the docks to take him to Gulltown but our new Lord Paramount lingers outside King's Landing, waiting. He enjoys his plots, our Littlefinger - just like you." Varys tittered.

Tyrion raised his fork to object. "Me? I am innocent as a newborn babe."

"My little birds say Podrick Payne left the city through the Lion Gate in Lannister colors, to your father's camp. Strange though, how he changed his attire, and rode on the Rosby Road. Now what business could young Pod have going East?" Varys said.

"Podrick likes hunting for shellfish in Blazewater Bay. Now that the fishing boats know about wildfire, crabs and clams are scarce in Fishmonger Square." Tyrion retorted.

"Come, my Lord Hand. What mission did you send Podrick on? Is he on some bold quest - to prove himself a knight?" Varys said.

"I dispatched my squire with a letter to the Westerlands. For my service, my lord Father would reward me with a betrothal. Who knows? It might be Lady Lefford - she is suitable for a dwarf now that she has been despoiled in the capture of the Tooth." Tyrion said. "A pretty little lie. Perhaps you are the second most devious person in the Seven Kingdoms and not Littlefinger. Is your squire sending a raven to the Tooth, Riverrun or Harrenhal?" Varys asked. There was no mirth in the eunuch's dark eyes when Tyrion shrugged in response. "I have spies at the Golden Tooth and Riverrun - and my little birds roam freely now at Harrenhal. Curious, isn't it? Besides the Goat's men, and a boy who lost his hand, the prisoners have been unharmed. This Jon Snow has a bloody reputation but secretly, he is a lamb."

Tyrion snorted. "I do not think he will bleat for you. If the North takes King's Landing, Joffrey's head will decorate a pike. The Starks will kill anyone involved with Ned Stark's death."

"Then it is good that the North is returning North." Varys said.

"Are they?" Tyrion asked in a doubtful tone. "Littlefinger is up to something. He is inciting Joffrey against the Northerners."

"The Gods only know what game Littlefinger is playing." Varys said.

"I sent Podrick to Duskendale so he could send a raven that Lady Sansa is safe, and unharmed. Enough blood has been shed in the Riverlands." Tyrion said.

"So that was your squire's mission? You believe the realm needs peace. A noble sentiment, but the storm has not passed yet."

"What do you know, Varys?" Tyrion's eyes narrowed.

"Who ordered the massacre of the royal bastards?" Varys said.

"Joffrey. My nephew's first act was to command the city watch to kill Robert's bastards. A baby girl on her mother's teat at Chataya's. Young boys in Flea Bottom. Another babe killed by gold cloaks in a tavern. I thought it was my sweet sister but even she is not vicious enough to kill babes, less than a year old, in front of a crowd." Tyrion said.

"Robert Baratheon had sixteen bastards, but only two that matter. Edric Storm who Stannis Baratheon captured at Storm's End. But there was another, a boy older than both Edric and Joffrey. I removed him from harm's way, out of King's Landing. He has resurfaced."

Tyrion had the sinking feeling of impending doom. "And where is this bastard now?"

"Gendry Waters is at Harrenhal and under heavy guard. Robb Stark and Jon Snow know that he has a real claim to House Baratheon and the Iron Throne. If the North throw their support behind this Gendry.." Varys said.

Tyrion groaned. All the more reason to settle quickly with the North. The last thing House Lannister needed was another Baratheon pretender to the Throne.

* * *

The banner of the black she bear waved proudly as the soldiers, half mounted and half on foot, marched through the gatehouse that afternoon. On the road from the Tooth, new recruits had joined the Mormonts - curious smallfolk, hedge knights, garrisons of abandoned holdfasts and deserters hoping for new liege lords. At the van, a laughing Dacey rode with Lyra and Jory and the three Mormont sisters gossiped as they entered Harrenhal. Jon waved a greeting but he waited for the wagon, pulled by a team of mules, to swing into view.

Two dozen Tully men and even more Mormonts guarded the humble cart, driven by an ornery old dwarf experienced in transporting prisoners to the Wall or a hanging. Thick metal chains hung from the sides with the ends of extra manacles buried under fresh straw. Jon gave orders for the captive treated well, but no cleaning could remove the smell of piss soaked wood. Locks of golden hair stood out against the drab pale yellow straw and brown tunic. Jaime Lannister flashed a carefree smile and stretched his long arms in a cat-like yawn. The Tully guards grumbled at the Kingslayer's arrogance but Jon motioned for the wagon to be unlocked.

"Snow. Are a thousand men not enough to guard me? Do you need the entire army and Harrenhal?" The Lannister knight smirked.

"Ser Jaime. Have you been treated fairly? They gave you food and drink on the trip down from Riverrun?" Jon asked.

"Hardtack, barley mush, moldy cheese and water. I ate about as well as I did at Winterfell."

"You are a prisoner. You will have to wait until King's Landing for your feast." Jon's nose wrinkled. "Although you certainly could use a bath. The bathhouse here only has one exit, so you would not need a guard."

"You are lucky to be treated so well, Kingslayer. If I had my choice, you would be locked away in the dungeons like the false knight you are." Ser Robin Ryger ranted.

"False knights sleep on feather beds in King's Landing, Ser. And no one cares what you or the floppy fish think." Jaime snapped back. He stood up straight, unchained and proud.

Jon dismissed the Tully men, trusting in Ghost, as they walked into the great Hall. "Making friends wherever you go, Ser Jaime?" he asked.

The Lion of Lannister chuckled. "When am I to be released, Snow? I have had enough of surly Rivermen. And Mormont ladies threatening my manhood with a spiked mace."

"We have had enough of arrogant lions." Jorelle said. She only came up to the top of Jaime's chin but the fierce Mormont girl had no fear of the Kingslayer.

"We will send a raven to the Iron Throne tonight. King's Landing is three hundred miles away. When they bring Sansa to Harrenhal, we will release you to the Lannister forces. The quicker that happens, the better. When the North leaves the Riverlands, your uncle Kevan and the other highborns at the Golden Tooth and Riverrun will be freed. I see no reason why this should take longer than a moon." Jon said.

"And do you expect to get more ransoms for the prisoners?" Jaime asked.

"No, so long as the Lannisters keep their promises. My brother wants an end to the suffering in the Riverlands. That, and my sister, is the price for your freedom." Jon replied.

The Kingslayer nodded. "What will you do after the war, Snow?"

"I would have returned to the Citadel but that is not possible now. I will go back to Winterfell with Robb. After we destroy the ironborn raiders, I will travel around the North. See the Wall, visit Greywater Watch, and spend a few moons at Bear Island." Jon said.

"Just a few moons? I doubt you will leave my bed so quickly." Jory said with a toothy smile.

"One day, I promise to stay at Bear Island and build a fleet great enough to put fear into the Ironborn. But that must wait until the war ends." Jon said.

"But why then…." Jaime looked at the men drilling in the yards with pikes, lances and swords, and the smallfolk working on the ballista. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of the smithy, and hammers clanged at twenty forges. The young knights from the Vale with their skill and speed at mounted battle while the pikemen marched forward and backward to the beat of drums.

"We are ready for a battle that I hope never comes. If you want peace, prepare for war. The Stark have survived eight thousand winters because we are strong, not weak." Jon said.

"I will be glad when you are back North, Snow." Jaime japed.

"As will I." Jory said as she took Jon's arm, and pulled him close.

* * *

Jon Snow looked at the raven that had arrived that night. He wondered whether the message was a clever trap to lull House Stark into complacency. King's Landing was full of deceitful players, who hid treachery under a pretense of friendship. Could the dwarf truly be trusted? Perhaps this was a lie spread by one of his rivals, a false trail meant to sow misinformation. Still, his brother and sister needed to hear about this, and soon.

They met at an abandoned granary in the Wailing Tower. No one had stayed in the haunted upper stories since Lady Lothston descended into madness and jumped to her death. Robb's guards stood outside, but Jon and Arya brought Ghost and Nymeria only. Jon handed over the letter to his surprised brother and sister.

"Are we certain this is from Tyrion Lannister?" Robb asked.

"The letter claims to be sent on his orders from Duskendale. He would have done so to avoid spies in King's Landing. But whether these are his words or a trick by someone else, it is hard to say. There must be some truth to these words." Jon said.

"Tyrion has Sansa in the Tower of the Hand but swears that is only for her safety. He has rescued Jeyne Poole from Baelish's brothel. The dwarf says that he is working to ensure the return of Sansa and Jeyne but he fears Baelish's plots." Robb said, reading the letter closely.

"Why would the Imp write? We can't send him a raven." Arya asked.

"The obvious message is that he desires his brother's safe return. But Tyrion is also warning us about Baelish. But I don't know what that means. The story that Baelish forced Jeyne Poole to work in his brothels - if we see Sansa again, she can confirm that tale. But whether Baelish is plotting against Tyrion or the North or the Throne…" Jon shrugged.

"I hate this Baelish. The letter makes me uneasy." Robb said.

"Of course it does." Arya said. "If the Imp is afraid for his brother, then something bad can happen to our sister."

"Joffrey had better not hurt her. The Lannisters promised that Sansa would be freed, and the Tyrells said they wanted her to marry Willas." Robb said.

"At Riverrun, Tyrion offered Ned Stark's safe return, but he was executed by Joffrey a few days later. All these plots and tricks - we do not know how to play these games." Jon said.

"Then what should we do?" Robb said.

"We need to stay with our strengths. King's Landing is full of liars - Lannisters, Littlefinger, perhaps the Tyrells. They are better at treachery than we are. Even if the letter is not a lie, then it speaks to Baelish's plots." Jon said.

"Gods. I hate all this. Fighting on the battlefield is far easier." Robb said.

"It is but we cannot afford to be beaten by treachery. Sansa is in danger in King's Landing, and until she leaves, we have to be ready for any betrayal." Jon said grimly.

* * *

From the battlement nearest the solar of the Hand, Tyrion watched King's Landing. The Myrish spyglass pointed toward the wharves near the River Gate where the Merling King lay docked. Many nights had passed but the galley remained tied up. Either Littlefinger had tricked Varys on his comings and goings or something sinister was afoot. A captain might stop for a few days, if his ship needed repairs. But nearly two sennights in a city with little trade - that made no sense.

When Podrick returned to the city, Tyrion tasked the boy with shadowing Baelish's retainers. Bronn's face was well known as his guard, and Shagga and the mountain men were brigands, not spies. Tyrion thought to ask Ser Jacelyn Bywater for help but Littlefinger had greased many palms in the City Watch. Pod was quiet and forgettable, but the boy found little. Lothor Brune enjoyed drinking and Kettleback whoring.

Podrick waved eagerly from the solar window, and Tyrion put down the spyglass to waddle back. Bronn followed, his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Have you sighted Baelish at last?" Tyrion asked.

The squire nodded. "But not with his men. Peck called on me last night. Ser Marbrand was outside the city with Lord Tywin. Lord Baelish met your father."

"My father? But he is at Tumbler's Falls with the Reachmen. Why would he come back to King's Landing?" Tyrion squawked. His lord father ruled House Lannister with an iron fist, and did not pretend to care for any of his children's opinions.

"Peck does not know. When Lord Baelish came, all of the commanders were asked to leave the tent." Podrick said.

His father did not have many commanders left, Tyrion thought. The wolves had captured or killed most of the Lannister captains, besides Gregor Clegane and Addam Marbrand. But Ser Addam was quite trusted among the Westermen. What was Baelish hiding?

"Peck left with Ser Marbrand and your father to go West." Podrick said.

"But that does not tell us about Littlefinger. He is about as likely to lead an army as me. Where is Baelish now?" Tyrion said.

Bronn looked out the solar window. "Outside our door."A large group of men approached. Four wore the white cloak of the kingsguard but there was nearly a hundred more. Pycelle, Varys and Baelish followed Joffrey as they rode to the Tower of the Hand.

Tyrion groaned. Seeing his nephew was always a trial. And Joffrey called a meeting of the Small Council the day after Littlefinger met his father - that was no coincidence.

* * *

"Where is Sansa Stark?" Joffrey sneered.

Tyrion had more men in the Tower but few sellswords would dare attack a royal party. And the royal guards wore full plate and were heavily armed. Sandor Clegane's scarred face loomed large over Tyrion. The Hound was more dangerous than the three other Kingsguard.

Podrick Payne gently guided Lady Sansa through the door. The Stark girl greeted the king without fear, and gave a low graceful curtsy. Sansa Stark was a lovely girl and far better than Joffrey deserved. Then again, a whore with a pox was more worthy than his nephew.

"Lady Sansa is under the protection of the Hand." Tyrion said cooly.

"But your father has agreed to this. And Lord Tywin is Hand." Baelish said. Littlefinger's eyes glittered with open mockery and victory.

"Why are you in King's Landing, Lord Baelish? I thought you had left for the Vale to woo Lysa Arryn." Tyrion said.

"I received dark tidings that his grace needed to hear urgently. The Vale remains neutral but second and third sons have joined House Stark. There are knights from House Royce, Waynwood, Redfort, Belmore, and Egen who would fight with the wolves." Baelish said.

"And what has my Lord Father agreed to?" Tyrion said.

"Lady Sansa needs to remain a guest of the Iron Throne. The Starks pose too great of a danger. They have a Baratheon pretender in the Riverlands - a Gendry Waters born to some nameless whore in Flea Bottom." Baelish said.

"Robert had many bastards. Why does this one matter? Is he going to march an army of whores and urchins against the Red Keep? I suppose that strikes fear in your Kingsguard." Tyrion said. The comment angered Ser Meryn and Ser Boros but the Hound only smiled.

"You are a fool, Uncle." Joffrey shrieked. "What if they marry Sansa Stark to this bastard?"

"The bastard has no bannermen. In time, that may change, but the Starks have promised to return North. How would this Gendry raise men from the Stormlands? He is not Robert Baratheon. The men who rebelled against the dragons were great lords - not unknown bastards." Tyrion argued.

"Lord Tyrion has not seen this Gendry Waters. My little birds have. They say he is a fierce looking warrior - strong, burly, and that he carries a war hammer in battle." Varys said.

"Looking fierce does not mean he is fierce. And there won't be another battle of the Ruby Ford. Unless your grace intends to lead our men into the Trident." Tyrion said.

Joffrey exploded in anger. "You go too far, dwarf. My father was a fool to match me with a traitor's daughter. I will not have another Stark-Baratheon marriage to stir up my enemies. Sansa Stark will only leave King's Landing when her brothers are dead."

"What of the Tyrells? They wanted Sansa Stark given to them." Tyrion said.

"Your Lord Father has spoken with Lord Mace. The Tyrells do not want a marriage between a Baratheon bastard and Sansa Stark to threaten their Rose. Lord Tarly and the forces of the Reach are eager to prove themselves in battle, as brave men often are." Baelish said.

"And Ser Jaime? And the captives the North has taken?" Tyrion said.

"They can rot in the Riverlands. They failed me when they got captured. The king's men should win - not be beaten by Northern savages." Joffrey said. "I want their heads. This Gendry Waters. Robb Stark. Jon Snow."

Joffrey was more Aerys the Mad than Robert the Drunk. Tyrion wondered when his nephew's bouts of hysteria and sudden rages would become evident to the entire court. As soon as possible, he would leave King's Landing and his mess of a nephew for Mace Tyrell and his father. He looked at Sansa Stark. The girl refused to show weakness and Tyrion marvelled at her composure. He would do his best to protect her.

"Very well, but Sansa stays here, at the Tower of the Hand." Tyrion said. "We may still need to trade her to the North."

"The North will not matter once the Reach defeats them in battle." Baelish smiled. "And I believe Lady Sansa will be safer in Maegor's Holdfast, under the watchful eye of the king.

"No. The Crown cannot afford another Ned Stark." Before his nephew could rage, Tyrion offered a compromise. "His grace can send guards to the Tower of the Hand. They can watch over the Lady Sansa as well, but my Lord Father will not be pleased if she comes to harm."

"Your grace, I believe that to be a sensible solution. Lord Tywin only wants the best for the kingdom." Pycelle said.

Joffrey glared for a moment, and then turned to his white cloaks. "Dog, guard Sansa Stark. Make certain that you do not lose her." The Hound nodded, and the King stomped away.

Tyrion cursed silently. Baelish had played his cards well, and news of this Gendry would prevent any hope of peace. An unknown blacksmith with no name born from a whore in Flea Bottom. His idiot nephew might force the North to support the bastard that he feared.

* * *

Robb Stark waited on his mount as the riders came from South on the kingsroad under a white flag of parley. It had taken a week but the exchange would finally be made near the great walls of Harrenhal. The Northern lords, even Roose Bolton, assembled at his side, as did his Lady Mother and the Tullys. The Kingslayer was guarded by the three great dire wolves. No horse or man could outrun Grey Wind, Ghost and Nymeria.

His honor guards parted for Jon's horse. "There is no wagon." Jon whispered in his ear.

Robb's eyes narrowed. A half a dozen horses rode in front, and he could make out Ser Garlan and the odious Petyr Baelish. There was no sign of Sansa Stark, and no wheel house for a highborn lady. Behind him, Grey Wind snarled.

"Where is my sister?" Robb said, any pretense of goodwill gone.

Ser Garlan winced. "I am sorry, Lord Stark. But your sister remains at King's Landing."

"You promised her return. You have broken your word." Robb said bitterly.

"His grace refuses to allow her to leave. He fears Northern treachery against the Iron Throne. You have Vale men fighting on your side. You have a Baratheon pretender at Harrenhal. His grace Joffrey wishes to restore peace and justice to the Seven Kingdoms. He cannot allow any more plotting against the crown." Petyr Baelish said.

"What will happen to Sansa?" Catelyn Stark asked urgently.

"Lady Sansa will be a lady in waiting for Queen Margaery." Baelish said.

"She will be safe. My sister Margaery and my brother Loras will look after her." Garlan said.

"Sansa is a prisoner and a hostage." Robb's anger was obvious to all. "I will not leave the Riverlands until my sister Sansa is returned to me. My father would not abandon his daughters to the bastard on the Iron Throne, and neither will I."

"You have no choice, Lord Stark. We want the Westermen prisoners returned, Lord Stark, and your men to give up Harrenhal." Randyll Tarly said.

Robb laughed loudly. It was not a pleasant sound. "And why would the North do that?"

"You would leave the Riverlands alive. Our men have crossed Blackwater Rush. Thirty thousand from the Reach. Lord Tywin has ten thousand more. We have reinforcements ready at King's Landing and Highgarden. Even with the Rivermen and the Valemen, your army cannot be larger than twenty thousand. The Tyrell army is fresh and unblooded. Your forces are tired and have fought many battles. Our victory is certain." Tarly said.

"Nothing is certain in war. The North has been outnumbered before and won." Robb said.

"Against the Lannisters. Not the Reach." Tarly said.

"Be reasonable, Lord Stark. No one doubts the courage of your men or your skill at war. With the remains of the Lannister army, we have twice your men. I am sorry it has come to this but bend the knee and go home." Garlan said.

"In time, when cooler heads prevail, his grace may be more inclined to mercy when there are no threats to the throne. His grace would be pleased if you deliver the bastard Gendry back to King's Landing. It would be better for relations between the North and the Iron Throne and the Lady Sansa would be given more freedom. In time, if peace reigns, his grace might even let her return to Winterfell." Baelish said.

"And why would he do that?" Jon spoke up. Our army is two hundred miles away, and the king won't give back our sister, after we have defeated the Lannister forces. If we are two thousand miles away, Joffrey will not change his mind."

"His grace is young and will become wiser and kinder with time and marriage. King Joffrey will be more merciful to Lady Sansa after the North bends the knee." Baelish said.

"You cannot win this war. You might hole up in Harrenhal for many moons, but the Tyrell army will defeat you." Tarly blustered.

"The Tyrell army sieged Storm's End for a year in the Rebellion and failed to take the castle. They did not win the war." Jon said.

"Robb, perhaps we should speak further. There may be some way….." Lady Stark said.

"We have spoken enough." Robb turned and spoke to his lords. "Bind Ser Jaime. He will return to Riverrun." Robb turned again and spat on the ground. "This is what I think of your words. I will not let my sister remain a hostage to Joffrey the Illborn. The North will not bend the knee, or heed the promises of liars. House Stark does not rely on the mercy of others."

"Then, that means war." Ser Garlan said with regret.

"Aye. War is winter and winter is coming." Robb rode away with Jon Snow at his side.

**Author's Notes**

Daemon Targaryen was a scoundrel, a whoremonger, and a troublemaker who feuded with many others - House Hightower, the Triarchy, and his brother, the King - but he does not seem to have lied. He used deception in warfare but more in the manner of Sun Tzu.

I have compared Ancient Valyria to the Roman Republic before but the sayings of the Faceless Men are very much like the Romans. The Roman Republic had great courage and considerable dedication to the notion of public service. Of course, they also butchered cities, massacred their enemies, and played dirty in politics. From 100 BC to the start of the Roman Empire, the politics were much like Game of Thrones - you win or you die.

The fog of war is referred to many military writers but the term was coined by Clausewitz, the Prussian general. He writes "War is the realm of uncertainty; three quarters of the factors on which action in war is based are wrapped in a fog of greater or lesser uncertainty. A sensitive and discriminating judgment is called for; a skilled intelligence to scent out the truth."

Castles really declined as defenses for two reasons. The first is gunpowder and cannon/artillery strong enough to destroy walls. But the second is that the social structure changed due to guns. Infantry armed with guns dominated, and the mounted knight (the basic unit of feudal society) was toast. This means defending population centers and cities was the focus of new warfare. Robb and Jon may be anachronistic in caring for the plight of smallfolk. In the middle ages, the general philosophy was the invaders can't take the land, so once they exhaust themselves, we are still lord or baron. Nobody gave a crap about peasants.

The pikemen wear the armor of the Swiss mercenaries. Essentially, they needed armor only to protect themselves from missile fire. The wall of pikes would block arrows as well. It was quite difficult to attack the lower legs.

**The History of the Greater and Lesser Houses** is the book that Arya brings Tywin on the show after Lorch admits he can't read. It is a well written scene.

Betrayal is so common in GOT that the minor characters are treated as cannon fodder Catelyn meets Mya on the climb to the Eyrie and learns that Mya hopes that Mychel Redfort will marry her after being knighted. Catelyn of course knows that highborns, even fourth sons, do not marry bastards even if they took their maidenheads. This is contrasted to the nobility of Robb Stark who screws the North badly by falling for the whole Westerling garbage. Here, Ser Mychel is actually brave, unlike the supposed gallant swordsman in the books. If you read carefully, the Vale is full of sanctimonious hypocrites.

There is a really long paragraph in** A Feast of Crows** where Brienne meets Gendry, and goes off on this long description. It is like a passage out of a Harlequin romance.

In the books, the massacre of Robert's bastards are ordered by Cersei. In the TV show, it is hinted that Joffrey sends the orders. I think this is because it is easier for TV to focus on a sneering Joffrey than the interior monologue of Cersei. I actually think the TV works better because if Cersei was planning to kill the bastards, she would spend less time on babies and more on the real threat - Edric Storm, Mya Stone - than a whore's baby girl.

Gendry was happy polishing helmets and beating on swords with hammers. This is close to Arya's thoughts at the Peach when Bella, another Robby B bastard, offers to ring his bell.

Warning Gendry is actually quite odd, if you think about it. Varys is a shady character, focused on putting fake Aegon on the crown. What does he care if Gendry lives or dies? While it helps the narrative by giving Arya a companion, it doesn't make any sense - particularly since any link between Gendry and Varys is nonexistent for five books.

Some of the dialogue between Varys and Tyrion is taken from Book 1 of the Game of Thrones. Tyrion compares himself to a little lamb. Varys says to Ned Stark that Baelish is the second most devious man in Westeros. (which means Varys is first!) and Varys also says to Ilyrio Mopatis the gods only know what games Littlefinger is playing. That may be true, but Tyrion and Varys should be dedicating spies to find that out - not just twiddling their thumbs.

In **A Storm of Swords**, Sansa finally realizes, after the Purple Wedding, the extent of lying at the royal court. The irony is that her awakening comes only when it is far too late. She is being shipped off to the Eyrie and only realizes on the trip that she has been suckered by Littlefinger all along. The line - they're all liars and everyone better than you - come from Sansa's recollection of a talk with Sandor Clegane. Sansa is now Alayne Stone, so Sandor is now wrong. GRRM performs the best sleight of hand with the women. Arya transforms into a fearsome assassin while Sansa becomes Littlefinger II.

Baelish's play is predicated on his knowledge that Gendry is at Harrenhal. It is never explicitly stated but as the Master of the Coin, and a provider of whores and brothels, he knows the identity of the bastards. He "helps" in the investigation by bringing Ned Stark to see the whore and the youngest bastard girl - the one killed on her mother's teat. Baelish would have known about the older bastards. In the story, as he wanders about Harrenhal, trying to scare Catelyn on the dangers to Sansa, he sees Gendry. And the trap is fully set.

There certainly could have been more dialogue for Tyrion, or between Jaime and Jon. Even Gendry could have had a bigger role. You can really spend a lot of words fleshing out their responses. But the backdrop for the battle has already taken two chapters. At the end of the day, Joffrey was always a little shit - quick to anger, easy to push to violence. Baelish is an excellent manipulator and in the first three books, the best player of the Game of Thrones. For Baelish, this is the culmination of a decade of plotting - the service to Jon Arryn, the secrets uncovered as Master of Coin, and his manipulation of the other characters.


	26. The God's Eye

**The God's Eye**

The tall slender man held the goldenheart spear in his right palm, his olive skin and yellow kaftan blending into the dun colored walls of the ruined throne room. He placed the left hand down, the back of the palm on the right wrist. He spun the spear clockwise, two revolutions between the handoffs from right to left and back again. Skip and catch. Skip and catch. The spear twirled, slowly at first, but then faster and faster, until the weapon moved in a blur and the long steel blade seemed everywhere and nowhere at once. The spear spun at an incredible speed, but the man stood undisturbed in a stable pose. His hands moved quicker than a viper, but his shoulders were entirely relaxed and no sweat dripped on his face.

In his youth, Oberyn Martell studied sojutsu, the art of the spear, with the fighting monks of Yi Ti. He learned to thrust, swing, and strike until the weapon became an extension of his arms. He could stab with the point, slice with both edges of the long blade, and smash with a spinning shaft, hitting as hard as a flail. Through thousands of hours of practice and hundreds of fights, Oberyn mastered the three elements of the spear - speed, stamina, and space. The Red Viper was as quick as his namesake, he could fight or fuck for hours, and he kept his enemies at range, close enough to strike, but far enough to block, dodge, or circle.

Oberyn practiced that morning in the Sandship. A thousand years ago, Mors Martell, a lesser lord of Dorne, had married Princess Nymeria here, after she burnt the ten thousand ships. Before the Martells conquered Dorne, the Sandship was their ancient home - an ugly squat keep, shaped like a dromond washed ashore and turned to stone. Oberyn trained in the ruins, under the leaded glass windows of the dome - one inlaid with the Martell spear in gold, and the other the blazing Rhoynish sun. He had gone through a dozen katas when he heard light steps on the stairs. Oberyn continued his movements, focusing on footwork, jab steps for attack, and even quicker backsteps, until he flitted about in a whirlwind and ended the dance with the blade level with the face of the intruder, an olive skinned boy with straight black hair.

"Trystane, why are you not with your little lioness?" Oberyn said. He placed the spear butt down on the stone floor.

"Father sent me to summon you to the Tower of the Sun." Trystane said.

"I am not surprised Doran calls. But why are you the messenger? Why not the castellan, the maester, or even your sworn shield? I thought you were busy wooing Myrcella in the Water Gardens by losing games of cyvasse." Oberyn said.

The boy flushed slightly. "Myrcella beats me fairly. She is very clever, Uncle, and sweet and gentle. Father has sent Maester Caleotte and Maester Myles to gather our entire House. Lady Ellaria, your daughters, my sister Arianne. Even Ricassio, Ser Manfrey and Lady Alyse have been ordered to attend. Something important has happened, uncle."

* * *

Oberyn kissed Ellaria on the lips and greeted his seven daughters. Even little Loreza was there, and his youngest girl celebrated her sixth name day only a moon ago. Three of the Sand Snakes were armed openly, and the four others carried hidden daggers. Loreza had been given hers as a name day present. Trystane sat next to his father and sister Arianne.

"Brother - why have you called us?" Oberyn addressed the gray haired man seated in the wheeled chair.

Gout and time had weakened Doran Martell, who covered his swollen and weakened legs under a gold and red blanket. A copper tray near the wheeled chair held peeled blood oranges and a silver knife. Areo Hotah, the bearded captain of the guards, stood over the Prince, carrying a two handed longaxe. "A ship landed this morning. The captain announced to every inn, winesink, and alehouse in Sunspear that the North has sent Rhaenys's killer to Dorne."

"The Mountain That Rides was captured?" Oberyn asked in shock.

"Our spies say the Mountain still accompanies Tywin Lannister. The lions, or what is left of their army, prepare for battle against the wolves." Doran said.

"Then who?" Oberyn asked the question on the mind of everyone in the room. Two dozen Martell guards marched into the room, armed with spears and round shields wearing the gold, red, and orange of the Prince of Dorne. They escorted half a dozen warriors in mail and heavy furs. The leader was a boy of ten and two, with pale blond hair and dark blue, almost purple eyes. He smiled and bowed deeply, the pale purple cloak swirling on the floor. He at least had sense enough not to wear fur in Dorne.

"Edric, it is good to see you return to Dorne safe." Doran said.

"Who are your companions, Lord Dayne?" Oberyn said.

"Ser Emmon Cuy. And these are the Forresters and the Tuttles." Edric said.

"Your father died three moons ago, Edric. You are now Lord of Starfall, and the head of House Dayne." Doran said.

"I am sorry to hear that news." the boy said softly. At seven, Edric was fostered at Blackhaven as a squire. Oberyn doubted the boy remembered Starfall or his father well.

"Why have you returned to Dorne?" Doran said.

Ser Emmon yanked a rope, dragging a terrified man with a pale piggy face, and pig like eyes. The fat man dropped to his knees, begging for the mercy that would never be granted.

Edric raised his violet eyes, looking older and fiercer than his twelve name days. "This is Amory Lorch. Jon Snow, the White Wolf, captured him at Harrenhal. Lord Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, offered him to House Martell as a gift. He confessed to the murder of Rhaenys Targaryen."

A hiss of disgust could be heard over the blubbering of the porcine prisoner. "We should take his head now." Arianne Martell said.

"Not before we have found out the truth about the Sack of King's Landing." Oberyn said.

"Prince Oberyn, the Starks have already done so. Lorch killed Rhaenys. Gregor Clegane killed Aegon and Elia Martell. Lord Tywin Lannister ordered Elia and her children slain and the bodies delivered to Robert Baratheon. Lorch confessed this to Robb Stark and Jon Snow." Edric said.

If he had a spear, Oberyn would have impaled the fat man. His brother held up his hands to quiet the Sand Snakes. "Thank you, Edric. But how is it that you deliver this message? You served Lord Beric. Why do you follow House Stark?"

"When the Starks captured us, Thoros declared Jon Snow to be Azor Ahai reborn, and the Prince That Was Promised. Lord Beric pledged his sword to the White Wolf." Edric said.

"The Prince That Was Promised. _Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star._ I know the prophecy. But does this Jon Snow claim to be a saviour?" Oberyn asked.

Edric reddened. "Actually Snow does not believe Thoros. He was more annoyed than pleased with our vows of fealty. He would rather kill the Lannisters than fulfil any prophecy."

Oberyn laughed. "I like the bastard already. A Prince Who Does Not Wish to be a Prince."

"That sounds like Snow. He was skilled as any maester but he refused to forge his links until he turned one and six." The dark skinned woman wore a yellow cloak over her green brigandine. The black hair was still short but had grown longer in the sea voyage.

"Sarella! You are back from the Citadel." Arianne said.

"Sister, Have you gotten tired of all that learning?" Nymeria said with a mocking smile.

"I travelled here on the _Cinnamon Wind_ because I wanted no maester to see the raven. Father, Uncle - I know Jon Snow well. He was my best friend at the Citadel." Sarella said.

"Sarella, I am delighted to see you." Oberyn embraced his fourth daughter. You and Lord Dayne have many stories to tell. Let us do so over a meal. And as for this scum, lock him in the deepest dungeon. His dying will be long, and his name will be forgotten."

* * *

As Oberyn expected, the snake was too much for the Northmen. Ser Emmon, Lord Gregor Forrester, his sons and henchmen, snacked on the sharp white cheese, olives and flatbread. They ate the dates cooked in honey and the stuffed grape leaves, filled with raisins, peppers, onions and mushrooms. They even stomached, with great difficulty, the sausages and shrimp, spiced with aleppo, poblano and bird's-eye peppers. But the Forresters and Tuttles blanched at the grilled snake with fiery mustard sauce, covered with dragon peppers.

"The snake needs more venom." Arianne said, licking the sauce off her finger. The Northmen and Ser Emmon rushed out of the hall, leaving the Martells alone with Edric.

Oberyn chuckled. "They lasted longer than I expected. Northmen do not appreciate our cuisine."

Ellaria rolled her beautiful exotic eyes. "Send them a platter of cream cakes. It will sooth them."

"Now, Edric. Tell us the true tale. What have you seen in the Riverlands?" Oberyn commanded.

"Wait." Arianne pointed to her brother. "Should he be here?"

"Why am I not allowed, sister? Dorea and Loreza are here, and they are younger than me." Trystane said angrily.

"Isn't it obvious? Trystane might tell Myrcella. Do we want the Lannisters to know our thoughts?" Arianne said.

The youngest Martell flushed red. His father put his hand on the boy's elbow. "Trystane is family, and in time, Myrcella will be too. Arianne, you have accused me of keeping secrets. Everyone in this room is curious about the War in the Riverlands. If they do not hear now, they would seek Lord Dayne out. And besides, the maesters track every raven in Sunspear."

Edric began. He spoke about the Lightning Lord's death and rebirth at Mummer's Ford. He talked of the devastation in the riverlands from fire, war, and floods, and how the Brotherhood Without Banners tried but failed to defend the smallfolk from the Mountain, the Goat, and the lions. Then the wolves came into the picture. Edric told of the Inn at the Crossroads and how Jon Snow had ambushed them there. There, Lord Beric and Thoros swore their loyalty to the White Wolf. He mentioned Robb Stark's voyage North to deal a blow to the Greyjoys at the Neck. Edric finished with the march to Harrenhal and Vargo Hoat's betrayal and brutal death at the hands of prisoners.

"An exciting tale. But what about the battles? What of Oxcross and the Golden Tooth ... Or the Bloody Trident?" Doran said.

"Prince Doran, I only know what I heard. I would have fought at Harrenhal but Lord Snow captured the castle without any losses. The Northmen think the Young Wolf cannot be beaten in the field. And that the White Wolf is a sorcerer. He took the Tooth and broke the Westerlands with cunning. They claim he used magic at the Trident to hold a wall against five times his number with an army of wolves and ravens."

Obara snorted. "So many battles and you did not even fight in one." His oldest daughter had always been impatient, and eager for war.

"I don't see you fighting the Lannisters either." Sarella sniped.

"Robb Stark wants an alliance with House Martell - Dornish swords and spears to fight the Lannisters." Edric said.

"Father, I thought we are allied with the Lannisters." Trystane said.

"Ah, yes. Your little princess. She has such lovely curls." Tyene said in a gentle voice. Her sisters knew better.

"Alliances can be made and unmade. But our spies in the capital say that the Northmen are doomed. The army of the Reach are thirty thousand strong, with another ten at King's Landing and more still at Highgarden. The talks have failed. The roses and the lions will besiege Harrenhal." Doran said.

"It would be different if Dornish spears were in the Riverlands." Obara groused.

"True, but how do our spears travel a thousand miles? No one expected Robb Stark to crush the Lannisters. Even if we sent men today, they would not arrive at Harrenhal in a moon. The last report is that outriders of the two armies are less than a hundred miles apart." Doran said.

"Prince Doran, Jon Snow asked if House Martell wants to avenge your sister and her children." Edric said. The room erupted in anger, and Oberyn felt shame that the Northmen had done more to hurt the lions than Elia's family.

"We have waited years for revenge. We should strike now. The lions are weak. The Lannister army has lost four battles in a row." Arianne hissed.

"That does not mean they will lose the fifth. The alliance with Highgarden has bought forty thousand swords to the Iron Throne. The North have less than twenty thousand, and many of those are Rivermen - and they are quarrelsome and unreliable. I do not play the game of thrones to lose." Doran said firmly.

"You do not play the game at all. The wolves are fighting, the lions are fighting. Even the Fat Flower of Highgarden is fighting. And what are the Dornish doing? Nothing. We are eating." Nymeria Sand said.

"I will not spill Dornish blood for no reason. House Stark is badly outnumbered. Mace Tyrell is a fool but his lords are not. The lions are still in the field. Balon Greyjoy still hates the North. The wolves must retreat, or they will fall in the Riverlands." Doran said.

"Jon Snow won't retreat, uncle." Sarella said. "Not with his sister at King's Landing. You will regret not allying with House Stark. They will fight."

"What do you think of him?" Oberyn asked.

"I met him two years ago. He was just a boy then - only ten and three - one of the youngest students. He has a thirst for knowledge unmatched in the Citadel. He is loyal to his friends, and loves his family dearly. And he is good at war." Sarella said.

"But the Northmen face an army twice their size. Surely the Starks will see reason." Doran said.

"He is a Snow, not a Stark and he will not agree to your "reason." At the Citadel, he was happy to defy the archmaesters. Why will he fear the Reach?" Sarella said.

"Do you think he will win? That he is this Promised Prince?" Oberyn said.

"I do not know about prophecies but I believe in Jon Snow. I asked him to run away with me to Dorne." Sarella said.

"Won't he be surprised when he discovers that you are not a man?" Nymeria said.

"He knows that I am a woman. He deduced it a year ago and kept my secret. I told him that he would be welcome in Dorne and that my sisters would like him." Sarella said.

"Are you not afraid that we will steal him away from you?" Tyene smiled.

"You can try. He may be too much for you." Sarella said to the smirks of the older Sand Snakes.

"He is only a boy of sixteen name days." Arianne said.

"You like to play at games, Arianne. Do not play against him. Jon Snow is a dangerous opponent, and deadlier than he seems. Be glad that he is not our enemy." Sarella said.

* * *

If the matter wasn't so serious, Jon would have laughed. Arya stood ramrod straight, like everyone in the room, cowed by Robb's stern face. He looked every bit the Lord of Winterfell, like Ned Stark dispensing justice to his bannerman. Arya was not the subject of Robb's ire.

"Where are your men?" Robb said he glared at the nervous Rivermen.

"My lord, I am sure this is just a misunderstanding." Ser Stevron said.

Jon Snow shook his head. "Their horses are gone, and they took a large quantity of supplies - enough for three weeks. Their squires also left in the middle of the night."

A sennight after the talks failed between the Reach and House Stark, the Freys had slowly vanished from Harrenhal. It had been a slight trickle at first, but last night hundreds had gone missing, including most of Walder Frey's trueborn sons. Ser Stevron, Ser Perwyn and Olyvar remained, and surprisingly most of the bastards.

"I hear talk that Black Walder wishes to be married." Martyn Rivers said. "Perhaps he will return after a wedding at the Twins."

"Black Walder enjoys bedding his brother's wives too much to marry." Perwyn said.

"How many of your men are missing?" Robb asked.

A long silence passed before Stevron answered. "Fifteen hundred, Lord Stark. Perhaps more. My son Ser Ryman, and his sons. Many of my brothers as well. Most of the knights and horse."

"See to it that no more men go missing." Robb said, dismissing the Freys. They scurried out of the room, eyes downcast from the irritated Northmen.

"Such treachery must be punished." Roose Bolton said. "We should hang a few Freys as examples. Or their bannermen. There are three minor houses pledged to the Twins."

"Kill men who stayed to punish those who left? That will lead to more deserters, and weaken our army further." Jon said.

"The Frey cunts are shit at fighting. Good riddance, I say." The Greatjon said. The Umbers were proud and fierce, but not patient planners. Ser Ryman may have been a sot and a craven, but the other knights and men at arms fought well at the Whispering Wood and Oxcross.

"We can ill afford to lose men. My Lords, make certain your forces do not desert. The outriders report that the Tyrells are past the Blackwater." Robb said.

"Our men think you plan to leave Harrenhal. We are outnumbered, Lord Stark. Would it not be better to fight behind the castle walls?" Roose Bolton murmured.

"Harrenhal is the largest castle in Westeros but to be trapped behind the walls in a siege would be hard. We would have to send away our horses, for lack of fodder. Disease and hunger would weaken our forces." Robb said.

"It might weaken the Tyrells as well. Maintaining an army of thirty thousand plus men will not be easy in the Riverlands." Lord Bolton said.

"Tywin Lannister could feed his army but he had to pillage most of the nearby lands to do so. And the Reach is the most fertile region of Westeros. They are used to sending supplies up the Rose Road." Jon said.

"Prepare your men to move out. The battle will come soon enough." Robb said. The Northern lords nodded and left, leaving only the Starks and Jon Snow.

* * *

"How many men do we truly have, Jon?" Robb asked after the room cleared.

"We had fifteen thousand men. We lost half the Freys, but we gained a thousand Mormonts and seven hundred Valemen. That brings us to the same numbers. But fresh recruits have joined us. - smallfolk, men training on the pikes, ex-septons, and former deserters. Several thousands, but many raw and inexperienced. And the others brigands or half crazed." Jon said.

"I saw many with rainbow stripes on their cloaks and sword belts. They all have a crystal sword on their shields. Some even have a seven pointed star branded on them." Arya said.

"The Warrior's Sons. Men dedicated to the Faith of the Seven and angry at the Lannisters for destroying the septs." Jon said.

Robb shook his head. "Can we trust these recruits in battle? The Blackfish says these are broken men, who have suffered too much. They cannot withstand a strong charge."

"Most men break under a charge. If a thousand knights of the Reach attack at a full gallop, we would have to pray to the old gods that the footmen would hold. And our new pikemen have only used their weapons for only a moon's time." Jon said.

"What are you two talking about?" Arya asked her brothers.

Robb flattened out the map of the Riverlands and placed down a few tokens of different colors. "Arya, there are three basic groups of soldiers. Archers, horsemen, and infantry. Forget the archers for now, and just think of horse and foot. With the Vale, we have over 6000 horse, 9000 foot, and 4000 new recruits. The recruits would fight with the infantry. Our cavalry is well tested. We defeated the Lannisters at the Whispering Wood and broke the siege at Riverrun. Jon took half the Northern cavalry west, while the infantry was in the Riverlands. At the last battle, near the Trident, I led the cavalry against Lord Tywin's reserve and won, while Jon held the Trident."

"But that is good, right? That the knights and mounted fighters have fought well." Arya said.

"Yes, but it means the infantry has not been bloodied. It took nearly three weeks for Lord Bolton and Lord Karstark to march the foot soldiers down to Riverrun. And Jon used the cavalry to attack Oxcross. The infantry has seen only one battle, and even then, most of the hard fighting was done at the wall or by the horsemen." Robb said.

"Robb is worried about how the foot soldiers will fare. The Reach has thousands and thousands of armored lancemen. Knights charging at full speed would be frightening even for experienced veterans. For the Brotherhood without Banners or smallfolk…" Jon said.

"They would be cut to pieces. It might be better to leave them behind." Robb said.

"No, we need as many men possible. We are already badly outnumbered. I will find a use for them on the battlefield." Jon said.

"Then you will take charge of them?" Robb asked. Jon nodded and his brother grimaced before leaving the room.

* * *

"Robb is angry." Arya said after their brother departed. The room was empty now, except for the map lying on a table.

"Not at us. He is upset about the Freys. Do you know what is the most important thing for an army?" Jon said.

"Numbers? Strength? Skill in battle?." Arya said.

Jon shook his head. "No, it is discipline. An army without discipline will fall apart in any difficulty. By leaving, the Freys have hurt Robb's ability to command. That is far more important than fifteen hundred men. Fighting in a war is not like dueling in the yard."

"So not just sticking them with the pointy end?" Arya said.

Jon laughed. "Not quite." He made two rows of coins on the map. "Two armies face each other in two lines. Imagine I break through the enemy line." Jon pushed one coin through the line. "What happens?"

Arya thought. "Well, you would be ahead of our forces. They would attack you on three sides."

Jon nodded. "And that is why in battle, men are rewarded for their bravery. It is dangerous to fight at the front. But look more closely. What happens to our enemies?"

"If they move to strike you, they would also be vulnerable. They could be attacked from the front and side." Arya realized.

"Breaking through the enemy line is dangerous. But once you do so, they feel great pressure to retreat." Jon pushed more coins though at different spots. "The first one who runs might survive. But those who are trapped when their line breaks…."

"They die." Arya said.

"Aye, most battles are about holding the line. Often two lines crash into each other, hoping to force the other side to give way. You have to be brave - because when the lines break, and people run - the battle is often lost. More men die fleeing than they do fighting." Jon said.

"But Jon, how will you stop that?" Arya said.

"We cannot. The Tyrell knights will charge and our line will break. But we can change what happens afterwards." Jon said.

* * *

No one in King's Landing was better guarded than Sansa Stark, Tyrion thought. The girl had three sets of escorts, although they might be better described as her jailers. Bronn and his hired killers walked behind them, the sellsword's gloved hands on his longsword and dirk. Ser Loras Tyrell stood at her side, chatting vapidly about his sister's visits of mercy to Flea Bottom. The Knight of Flowers dressed in the white of the Kingsguard, with the only color a brooch wrought in the shape of the rose of Highgarden, soft yellow gold in a bed of delicate jade green leaves. The final guard was the most dangerous, stomping ahead in his soot dark gray plate armor. Sandor Clegane wore the white cloak but most saw only the left side of his face, a burned ruin of scars. The Hound was one of the few men that Bronn feared to fight. Sandor Clegane was a few inches shorter than the Mountain but he was quicker and just as savage.

The door opened to two giant guards, seven foot tall, in gilded half helms and golden armor with the rose of Highgarden sewn on their breasts. A dozen women were seated about a trestle table. Sweet smelling rushes were scattered on the floor and a few bowls of rosewater lay on the table, along with knitting. Tyrion did not recognize many of the women. He had only been introduced to Lord Mace's elegant wife, Lady Alerie. The cousins and companions blurred together although the status of Lady Margaery and the wizened old woman with the future queen was clear to all. The matriarch of the Tyrell family stared at him with unfriendly eyes.

"You were not invited, Lord Tyrion. We are here to sup as ladies, and I do not believe you qualify." Olenna said.

"I am here to ensure Lady Sansa's safe return." Tyrion said, holding back a more caustic response. "As Hand of the King, I intend that no harm comes to her."

"Do you really believe we would harm my new lady in waiting?" Margaery said.

"No, but I need her returned to the Tower of the Hand." Tyrion said.

"Ah yes." Olenna said, glaring at Tyrion. "The poor child is the Iron Throne's hostage against the North. Have you no shame holding her while you war against her brothers?"

Tyrion refrained from calling the Queen of Thorns a hypocritical bitch. "Her brothers refuse to accept King Joffrey's rule. Perhaps the Tyrells can instruct them on the meaning of loyalty."

Olenna ignored the quip and reached gaunt spotted fingers for Sansa's hand. Her sour breath contrasted with the sweet rosewater. "Poor child, do you know what they say about you?"

Dutifully, Sansa bowed to Olenna and gave a deeper curtsy to Lady Margaery. "I do not, my lady. I have not seen any news or had any visitors for some time."

"They say you are the reason your brothers refuse to leave the Riverlands. The singers call you the Princess of Love and War, and the Lady of Ten Thousand Knights. That is the number of the knights of the Reach that will battle the North in your name." Olenna said.

"I am no princess." Sansa said. "I will be loyal to her grace, Queen Margaery."

One of the Tyrell cousins, a fat and florid girl, clapped her hands. "How romantic! To be admired by so many brave men, like the songs and stories of old."

Sansa flushed. "I do not wish to be fought over by anyone or have anyone die for me in songs. Whether it is Northmen, Rivermen, or Reachmen. I only wish to serve."

"Quite right. Don't listen to Megga. She is one of the more foolish of this flock of hens and that is saying quite a lot." Olenna shook her head at the Tyrell cousin in question. "Come, eat with us. Lord Tyrion can stay outside and dine on some salt fish and cold bread."

"Sansa. You must be hungry" The friendly Lady Alerie said. "We have boar roasted in red wine and blackberries, a broth of leeks and mushrooms, and lemon cakes."

"Have them bring a plate of cheese. Or I will starve to death." Olenna said.

The Queen of Thorns motioned to her guards and the two seven footers ushered Tyrion, Bronn and the other escorts to a small alcove. The Tyrell ladies could still be seen but were too far to be heard. A wooden tray of brown bread baked with beer was plopped down on a table, with two small dishes of butter and blackberry jam. Tyrion frowned. They had forgotten the salt fish.

* * *

Sansa Stark searched for words under the curious eyes of the ladies. There were three cousins her age, one the chastened but smiling Megga. There were a few married ladies, Lady Alerie who seemed kind. She guessed the others were Fossoways and Rowans but she had no idea of their names. The Queen of Thorns cleared her throat and Sansa rushed to fill the silence.

"I am saddened to hear of Lord Renly's death, your Grace. He was gallant." she said.

Olenna snorted before Margaery could respond. "He was a traitor. Renly had no real claim to the throne. Stannis is the elder and Robert has two sons. Even if these stories about Cersei and the Kingslayer acting like Targaryens are true, Robert Baratheon had many other natural sons. Your brothers have a Baratheon bastard at Harrenhal - some by-product of the king and a tavern wench, and he is older than Joffrey." Olenna said.

"I was not aware of that, my lady. I had thought the Lannisters planned to trade me for Ser Jaime" Sansa stammered. She wondered why the Tyrells summoned her.

"The Lannisters would if they had more sense. If my son wasn't a dolt eager to please, he would force the exchange. But boys like to beat their little swords on shields and boast about knocking each other off horses. A bunch of fools, who should listen to their mothers. Are your brothers like that as well? Do they enjoy whacking each other with sticks?" Olenna said.

"They spar and they train. Or they did. Jon was sent to the Citadel four years ago. Robb is a good sword, and a better lance. But he doesn't speak about his skills. The North does not have tourneys, my lady. My father did not think war was a game. When he fought a man, he did so to kill, not boast." Sansa said.

"Your father was a sensible man. A terrible Hand but a good ruler for the North." Olenna said. "Is your brother Robb like him? Or does he favor his Tully side?"

"I am not certain what you mean." Sansa said, slightly confused.

"My grandmother wants to know if they have ambitions in the South. With this Gendry Waters as their puppet, they could put a claim for the Iron Throne. Even in King's Landing, many doubt Joffrey's parentage. He looks very little like a stag." Margaery added.

A few moons ago, Sansa would have defended Joffrey as too beautiful to hate, but she knew better now. "My brothers are not hungry for power. They are honorable men. They take after my father, Lord Stark. They will do what is right, and not for baser reasons."

"Your brothers? What about the bastard? Robb Stark is the Lord of Winterfell. But your half brother Jon Snow has no lands. Might he not want to fight to gain a title?" Olenna said.

Sansa shook her head. "Jon is more Stark than anyone. He and Robb are very close, and Jon's loyalty cannot be questioned. Robb has always wanted to give Jon lands near Winterfell."

Margaery smiled brightly. "I hope when all this unpleasantness is over, that we can be friends. As Queen, I would like relations with the North to be good."

"Pardon, your grace. I thought the Tyrell army was marching to fight my brothers." Sansa said.

"My brother, Ser Garlan, believes that the bloodshed can be minimized." Margaery said.

"My son Mace has given orders to encircle the Northern army at Harrenhal. No one wants a long and costly siege. If everyone stays sensible, an honorable surrender can be reached. Lord Robb may have to give hostages but Joffrey will be disappointed. That boy is far too eager for blood. Garlan has no desire to give him your brothers' heads." Olenna said.

The leek and mushroom broth came, along with fresh oat bread, baked with bits of dates, apples and oranges. A tray of cheese and lemon cakes followed. "Your grace, I pray for peace. Robb and Jon have no anger against the Reach. The head they want does not belong to your brother." Sansa said to Margaery.

* * *

The horses were saddled and mules and drays ready to pull the loaded supply wagons. At the edge of the lake, Jon gave a few last orders to Maturin Manderly and the captains of the other riverboats. They would launch from Harroway and stay close to the western shore. That morning, Robb had spoken to both the cavalry and the infantry about the plans to march South. Jon would do the same for the recruits that were being gathered by the Winter Town boys.

He looked over the motley bunch. Half a dozen outlaws with mismatched armor, sour faces, and few teeth stood with the Lightning Lord. These were the leaders of the Brotherhood, and not just the rank and file. Septons and begging brothers rubbed shoulders with soldiers pledged to the Faith. Captains of the pike companies sat on the grass, the long spears jutting high into the air. The pikemen took Jon's instructions to become familiar with their weapons literally. Peasants, eager for glory, milled about with their crude axes, sickles, and hammers as did drummer boys who had blended in with the crowd. Ser Raymund Mallery and a few other knights looked uneasy at the other attendees. Jon could understand their reservations. The new recruits did not inspire much confidence. Arya, Chett, Gerry and Gendry stood behind him.

"We march South from Harrenhal today to fight the invaders. If there is anyone who wishes to stay behind, say so now." Jon said.

"Milord. Why would we not follow you?" Jack-Be-Lucky was a loyal man to Dondarrion. He had only one eye, and the other was covered by a dirty brown bandana. He wore a rusty pot helm and carried an equally decrepit bill hook.

"The Reach has thirty thousand men. It will be a tough fight, and you must be ready for a hard struggle." Jon said.

A muscled soldier shoved his way to the front. "Lord Snow, we are not afraid of these knights. We will gladly die for the Riverlands, and under the banner of the wolves."

"And that is where you are wrong. In war, the goal is not to die for your liege lord. The goal is to let your enemies die for theirs. My men will live to fight another day. Let the knights of the Reach sacrifice themselves for glory. We will win." Jon waited for the cheering to die down. "But to do that, do you remember what I asked before we marched on Harrenhal?"

"You said to follow your orders or hang." Ser Raymund said.

"Aye. If you come with me, you had best listen. When I tell you to march, you will march. When I say stop, you will hold. Every man here will heed my orders, or you are no use to me at all." Jon said. "Is that clear? When I give commands, you must obey."

"But how will we know? On the battlefield, we cannot see you."

"Listen to your captains, and the drummer boys. Their notes will tell you what to do. Make no mistake - if you wish to stay alive, obey me on the field. Otherwise you will look like him." Jon pointed to the Lightning Lord, blind in one eye and battered with many wounds. "And the Red God will not save you."

The recruits renewed their vows, and chanted White Wolf with gusto. He was amazed at their boldness. Then again, he had been eager for war once too.

* * *

"Quite a speech, Snow." Jory said, grabbing his elbow. "Stark wants to see you." The Mormont girl was with Eddard Karstark and Smalljon Umber.

"Any particular reason?" Jon asked.

"Final orders, I think. We are ready to march, Snow." Smalljon said. "Time to take it to the southron cunts who smell like flowers."

"They smell a lot better than you, Umber." Eddard japed.

Jory stopped Jon with a hand on his chest. "Snow, Robb says that you are going to be at the center of the fight. That like the Red Fork, he has given you an important task."

"Yes, I will command the new recruits. Otherwise they are not likely to make it out alive. I am sure the Reach knights will charge and we will have to face them." Jon said.

"The Mormonts will join you. We have the best armor in the Northern army. My sisters, Dacey and Lyra, ride with Robb in the cavalry but I will fight at your side." Jory said firmly.

"As will we." Eddard said while the Smalljon nodded. "Harrion and Torrhen are mounted, but I promised to defend your life. And the Smalljon hates to miss any real fights."

"It will be dangerous. My speech to the recruits aside, I do not know how many of us will survive. A charge by a thousand knights can be deadly." Jon said.

"Bah, I am the boldest of all the Mormonts. On Bear Island, my name is Danger." Jory scoffed.

"Your name is Jory. And I think your four sisters would all claim that title. But I would welcome allies. There is great risk though. This battle will be hard." Jon said.

Jory shrugged. "I would rather die fighting with you than in the winter cold. I want to face the enemy and have them sing songs about the courage of the she-bears. Let them fear the North. Let them know what a thousand howling Mormonts can do in war. Let them see that death comes at the end of my morning star." Her dark eyes glittered in the morning light.

He nodded and clasped Jory's hand in his. No one could say that Jory Mormont lacked fire. She was a true lady of the North and in her way, sweet as any southron lass. If the war ended now, he would enjoy his stay on Bear Island.

* * *

Jon and Arya made their way to the gatehouse. The Kingslayer was secured for transport in a prison wagon, singing a jaunty tune - **Six Maids in a Pool** \- a song about Florian the Fool and Jonquil the Maiden in the Age of Heroes. Tully and Stark guards glared but Ser Jaime only whistled back. They might never be friends but Jon admired the confidence of the Lannister knight and his armor of insolence. They walked past Robb's guard, and entered into a room with only Robb, Talisa and the Tullys.

"Robb, there must be some other way." Lady Stark said. "Perhaps a parley. Or send a message to the Tyrells. They may be able to convince the Throne to give up Sansa."

"The Tyrells failed before. Ser Garlan made promises that he did not keep." Robb said.

"Ser Garlan is not Lord Mace. Either he or Lady Olenna may have more influence at King's Landing." Catelyn said.

"Mother, the die is already cast. Our scouts have spotted their outriders. The main army of the Reach has marched north of Stony Sept. They are less than a hundred miles away." Robb said.

"If you lose, the Lannisters will pursue us North. It won't just be your head, but Bran, Rickon and Arya. And we will never see Sansa again." she warned.

"We may be outnumbered but that does not mean we will lose. I have seen the army of the Reach. Jon and I have a strategy to defeat them." Robb said.

"They outnumber you two to one. There is no shame in bending the knee. The Lannisters want the Kingslayer released. If we do that and there is no more war, Sansa may be released one day. Lord Tywin, let us give him peace in return for mercy." Catelyn said.

"I do not want war, mother, but the Throne refused to return Sansa, after agreeing to a trade. That is not justice. The Reach believes they cannot be defeated. Let us see how they fare in battle, and not boasts or tourneys." Robb said.

Lady Stark stomped away, with a downcast Edmure and an apologetic Brynden in her wake.

* * *

"Mother is in a fine mood, today." Arya said.

"She is worried about all of us, not just Sansa. I am sending her back to Riverrun with the Kingslayer." Robb said.

"What about Lord Edmure? What about the Freys?" Jon said.

"I cannot spare any men now. I have neither the time nor desire to bargain with Lord Frey." Robb said.

"Are you going to punish the Freys for deserting?" Arya asked.

"Robb can't punish Lord Walder. The Freys are sworn to House Tully. It was Lord Edmure that Walder insulted." Jon said to his confused sister. "Arya, Ser Ryman and his sons are cravens. They would not have betrayed the Tullys without Walder Frey's approval."

"Walder Frey will deny it, of course. He is a disgusting old man but he has no lack of cunning. If the Tyrells and Lannisters win, he can claim that he held half his troops back and strike a better deal with the Throne. If we win, Ser Stevron and Perwyn will be fighting for us. Either way, the Freys come out on top." Robb said.

"That is not cunning. That is deceitful." Arya said.

"It is both, sister." Jon said.

"It is Edmure's right and obligation to punish the Freys but the Tullys have only a small army. Without his bannermen, he would be outnumbered in any conflict with Lord Walder." Robb said.

"Robb can send Stark men to support Edmure but we need every sword and spear for the coming battle." Jon said.

Robb nodded his head. "We are ready now. I will ride the cavalry down. Jon will take the infantry on a forced march. The boats have been dispatched. We will move swiftly south."

"You don't plan to wait at all." Arya said.

"I have seen the Tyrell army in motion. They move slowly. So we will move quickly. They expect time to set up their forces. We will not give that to them. We will march and force them to react. The battle will occur where we choose." Robb said.

"And where is that?" Arya said.

Robb pointed to a place on the map, 30 leagues to the south, on the shores of the great lake. "The God's Eye. That is where we will fight the Tyrells."

* * *

The bells rang in the Tyrell camp early that morning. Ser Garlan rushed out of the tent with his shield and sword. To his squire's dismay, he only wore a mail coif about the head and gauntlets and vambraces to protect his forearms. Ser Garlan preferred no armor rather than hastily fitted pieces that would be far more cumbersome than full plate. He looked about cautiously - there were no dire wolves present, or fires burning. The Starks might have attacked but any damage was not great.

Ser Garlan met with other leaders in the central pavilion. Ser Addam Marbrand and the giant Gregor Clegane represented Lord Twyin but the leaders were predominantly Reachmen - Hightower, Fossoway, Crane, Oakheart, and Merryweather. Lord Randyll Tarly was in charge of both armies, and he barked orders to his two unfortunate sons. Ser Garlan commanded a large force of Tyrell cavalry but the strongest bannerman was Ser Baelor Hightower.

"Ser Baelor, what was the attack this morning?" Garlan asked the handsome heir of Oldtown.

"They think it was the Blackfish. He raided with a hundred men, and destroyed several supply wagons before retreating." Baelor said.

"These attacks are only flies biting at our heels. Vance and Piper men attacked my spears yesterday and we repelled them without a single loss." Orton Merryweather said.

"It is true. When my knights came to help, they had already fled." Ser Parmen Crane said.

"These Northmen seem poorly equipped to fight against the Reach." Lord Oakheart observed.

"You have not fought the Northmen." Ser Addam Marbrand said. "Those raiders are Rivermen. The Blackfish may be a seasoned warrior but he is not a Stark. They are much more devious, and will attack where we least expect."

"That is why we will strike first." Lord Tarly raised his hand, clutching a note in a meaty. Garlan realized that the fat son named Samwell had just handed a short missive to Tarly.

"Do you have news, Lord Randyll?" Marbrand asked.

"We have a spy in the Northern camp. They have already marched fifty miles down from Harrenhal on the western shore of the lake." Tarly said. "The wolves have won battles through trickery. At the Whispering Wood, they lured Jaime Lannister into an ambush. They broke the siege at Riverrun by attacking in the early morning. They attacked Oxcross with surprise. They took the Golden Tooth with treachery. And they built defenses and traps on the other side of the Trident. These tricks won't work on us."

"Why not? Does your spy know what they intend?" Marbrand said.

Tarly shook his head dismissively. "The battle plan is simple enough. We have forty thousand men, twice their number. Our knights and foot soldiers will break through the center of the Northern lines, and overpower the two halves. After the infantry is defeated, we can chase their cavalry away. There will be no ambushes, no surprise tactics. We will attack on flat ground where our charge will destroy their forces."

"Are you not worried about Northern cunning?" Jon Fossoway asked.

"Five thousand men dead would be a heavy loss for the Reach. For the North, five thousand dead would be a disaster. We can afford to wear them down, and when they are broken into smaller groups, they will be easy to flank. The North does not have enough men. And that will be their downfall." Tarly said.

"We have heard that the North has more men. That knights from the Vale and the Lightning Lord have joined them. The Brotherhood without Banners now fight for the Starks. And septons and other men pledged to the Faith." Addam Marbrand said.

Tarly scoffed. "A few hundred men here or there. Bandits, deserters, smallfolk. And who cares about these self proclaimed sparrows? When have kings and high lords ever had to dance to the twittering of sparrows?

The Reachmen in the tent applauded Lord Tarly for his bold plan of attack. Ser Addam Marbrand seemed less convinced and the freakishly large Gregor Clegane had no expression on his huge surly face. Garlan had spent two days with Jon Snow at Riverrun. He was more familiar with Robb Stark but Snow struck him as nobody's fool. On the way to the Riverlands, Owen warned Garlan that his friend was clever as a fox. Tarly expected the Starks to fall to the combined Lannister and Tyrell army and saw Jon Snow and Robb Stark as two green boys who would break before an experienced commander. Hadn't Lord Tywin made that same mistake? House Tarly's sigil was a huntsman with a bow. Horn Hill's words were First in Battle. But the Starks were wolves. Who would win between a hunter and a pack of dire wolves?

* * *

Jon Snow woke up to the loud snoring of Jory Mormont. She drooled a bit in her sleep, her crooked teeth and winsome smile visible under the furs. She was no fair maiden - actually Jory was no maiden at all but she was eager and unburdened. When Jon worried about battle and the looming threat of death, she laughed. The Stranger comes when he comes, she said, but before we die, we must live. She pinned him down with heavy teats, callused hands and thick thighs. At least, she had not threatened to use her morning star.

Jon smiled at the slumbering She-bear. Starks had made happy marriages with Mormonts in the past. But you are not a wolf, the voices whispered. You are the blood of a dragon. And dragons do not plant trees. No, they did not, his namesake least of all. Prince Daemon preferred to play at war than be a devoted paramour. His first marriage simply lacked any affection. The later two marriages were bloodier affairs. Lady Laena died in childbirth, trying to birth a son. Rhaenyra might have been beautiful once but she was petulant, proud, and grasping, hardly a good foundation for marriage. War was easier than love. The Rogue Prince was good at war, and so was Jon.

He left the tent and breathed in the cool morning air. There was no wind and the sun was low in the sky over the God's Eye. Besides the guards on night patrol, only a few squires and boys had woken. Jon opened a cage and a raven took wing flying west. He sat and waited, until the bird reached the enemy camp. The Tyrells had deliberately kept to flat, open land, to avoid any ambushes. For the last twenty miles, they would march east to meet the Northern army, camped on the Western shore of the God's Eye. There were two obvious ways of attack. The Reach could use their superior numbers and widen the line, beyond the point a smaller force could match. Then they could attack the wings, and try to envelop the Northern army. There were two problems with that approach. First, the wings would be vulnerable to harrying from Robb's experienced cavalry. Second, the lake protected their back. It would be bloody and costly, but the North had a strong defensive position.

The Tyrells were less than ten miles away. Jon saw through the raven's eyes a huge host of tent and thousands of horses. There were a few banners for the Westermen but dozens for the Reach. The Reachmen had not widened the line - in fact, they had formed large narrow columns, with less frontage, but great depth. The entire army was spread over less than a mile and densely packed, There was light cavalry and infantry on the wings, to shield the massive central attack force, rows of spears and swords and most importantly, the knights with lances. Lord Tarly meant to cut through the Northern infantry with one brutal charge, a flying wedge that would penetrate deeply and break the enemy formation. Tarly knew his history. That was what the Blacks had done at the God's Eye, forcing the greens into the water to drown.

"How far are they?" Robb's voice broke into Jon's thoughts.

"Less than ten miles. They mean to attack our center. Tarly knows our infantry will break."

"No doubt Lord Bolton told him. Or spies for the lions or roses." Robb said.

"We will be ready." Jon said simply. The two brothers sat in silence, thinking of the battle to come. "What of the engagements in the last few days?"

"The Blackfish, Marq Piper, Karyl Vance and Martyn Rivers have been raiding but they retreat immediately. No casualties on our side." Robb said.

Jon nodded. The mummer's farce would make the Reachmen overconfident. Southron knights and lords enjoyed boasts and such skirmishes would give them ample fuel.

"Yesterday, the Blackfish harassed some water bearers who wandered outside their main camp. So the horses will not have enough water - at least for a day." Robb said.

"They will not die of thirst but any advantage, no matter how small, is good." Jon said.

"Do you think Tarly attacks this morning? Robb said.

"Most likely, he waits until Bolton tells him our plans. The Leech Lord is cunning and we do not know how he sends messages. If his messenger is fast, the Reach will attack today. If not, tomorrow. They think it is easy to put us to flight." Jon said.

"Your position is dangerous. More so even than the Red Fork." Robb sighed.

Jon shrugged "We cannot ask others to fight if we are not willing to lead."

"Time to fight or die." Robb said. Or perhaps both, Jon thought.

* * *

Northmen and Riverlords were crammed tight into Robb's tent. Dried meat, dried fish and bread were laid out on the table along with a crude map. Robb added to the lines on the parchment for the lake with circles on the north and south for the short hills, overlooking the valley.

"The cavalry will be placed in these two spots. The Blackfish and Ser Martyn will lead the Rivermen on our left wing. I will hold the right wing with the Greatjon, Karstarks and Umbers. Ser Robar and the Valemen will ride with me." Robb turned to Roose Bolton. "My lord, I would give you a place of great importance. You will hold the very front."

Bolton's pale cold eyes gazed at both brothers. Jon wiped any emotions from his face. "I appreciate the confidence but where will the other forces be deployed?"

Jon stepped forward, and marked several spots on the map for a mixture of units. They were behind and either to the left or right, forming two diagonals, with the Bolton men were at the peak. Next came the Dustins and Ryswells. Interspersed in the crescent were pikemen and mixed forces. The Mormonts held the flanks.

After he finished marking the inverted V, Jon spoke. "This is an echelon formation. Lord Bolton's men will face the Tyrells. Our new recruits will be behind him, as will the Glovers, the Manderlys, and the mountain clans."

"The center will be extremely thin." Roose Bolton said in a soft whisper.

"We have no choice, Our formation must be flexible to offset the advantage they have in men. If they attempt to attack your sides and flanks, then other units can reinforce you." Jon said.

"Do you not think you can hold the front, Lord Bolton?" Robb asked.

"I accept the honor of the position. I intend to repay you for your trust." Roose said. "But where do you plan to be, Maester Snow?"

"I will be behind you, my Lord, closer to the shore. After all, I am no fighter." Jon said.

"Lord Stark, the scouts report that the enemy host is enormous. That there are dozens and dozens of the banners. Might they have received reinforcements?" the Redfort knight asked.

Robb smiled. "Ser Mychel, who are the best knights in the Seven Kingdoms?"

"The Knights of the Vale, my Lord." The young man said with certainty.

"And we have the knights. They may have numbers, but the Reach does not have Ser Mychel Redfort. Our strength and speed will win the day." Robb said.

Ser Mychel blushed from the praise and laughter spread through the ranks of the Northmen. Jon admired Robb's easy leadership. Of course, they did not have the Knights of the Vale. They had less than a thousand Valemen. If they had twenty thousand additional warriors, their tactics would be very different. Robb would be at the Gates of King's Landing.

Jon left the tent with Arya after instructing the Riverlords and Northmen on their place in the formation. Many commanders, including the Lightning Lord and Jory, had left to rally their troops. Arya looked at her brother nervously. She had never been seen battle before.

"Jon, do you have any special orders today?" Arya asked.

"Yes, don't get killed." he said before turning serious. "It will take time to deploy our troops. Even then, we do not know when they will attack. Eat, drink and rest. And bring me the drummer boys. They will play an important role. We will need them to play loudly in the battle. Very loudly. Roose Bolton says he will repay us for our trust. He will regret those words."

* * *

Moving quickly for the Tyrell army still took many hours. The sun was high in the sky when they sighted the Northern banners. Ser Garlan had wanted to lead the Tyrell-Lannister army but he bit back any angry words. Randyll Tarly had taken the center, and next to the Lord of Horn Hill, Ser Addam Marbrand and Gregor Clegane stood. Garlan had been isolated to the wings. He understood why - his men were primarily light cavalry, armed with javelins, swords and shields, and better for reconnaissance and patrol. Garlan's men would fend off any attacks by Northmen on the flanks. At the very front of the army, two rows of light infantry had been placed to hide the formidable ranks of knights and heavily armed footmen.

He was positioned on the center right, with an excellent view of the battle field, far better than Randyll Tarly on the front line. Garlan was shocked at the enemy formation. For one, the Stark banner, the running dire wolf, could barely be seen. The banner in the front was an upside down flayed man on a cross. The hands, feet and head were white while the rest of the body was bloody red, the skin stripped off. He could see the Tully and rivermen banners to his right and the Stark banner to the left, clumped with several others, in a throng of mounted men. But it was the infantry that was more surprising. The foot had advanced beyond their horses on the two sides, forming a crescent with the Bolton banner central to the half circle. The center looked quite thin, and the troops that Garlan could see were a mix of different units - warriors with mermaid helmets, hairy mountain fighters with armored byrnies and great two handed swords, devout knights with rainbow tassels and crystals on their greathelms, and poorly equipped smallfolk in boiled leather. There were pockets of pikes jutting toward the sky but not readied for defense. Garlan wondered why Lord Tarly had not already charged a charge.

On the wings, the horsemen battled. Tully and Blackwood men attacked on the periphery but that foray seemed half hearted, with no one getting an upper hand. On the other flank, the Stark banner remained in place but other cavalrymen charged hard, slamming into a band of Westermen scouts. The Reach infantry barely reacted, too focused on keeping their column intact. The Lannister light horsemen were driven from the field easily. The battle, after all, would be determined in the center.

Garlan and his men were ready to advance. Then he saw why Tarly had been so confident. The grim sign of the hanged man turned away and the Reach could only see the black cloth, and not the bloody skinless body. The Bolton forces spun around - first the men nearest to the Reach army, but then the ranks further away, until they faced east toward the water. Confusion reigned in the front ranks, as the cohorts nearest, one bearing a black horse head, and the other two long crossed axes, still faced west. House Bolton had betrayed the Starks. The charge had not been ordered because Lord Tarly intended the Boltons to attack as the vanguard. Garlan wondered who had known of this treachery. Randyll Tarly, of course. The Lannister men - Clegane and Marbrand - must have too. That explained their presence at the front. Garlan did not like such knavery and deceit but he could do nothing now. The Northmen began to give ground as the Boltons attacked their unsuspecting allies. Into this chaos, the Tyrell-Lannister army charged, the banner of the flayed man leading the way. As the Northern line broke, knights and footmen rushed into the breach, certain of victory.

* * *

Jon Snow reacted as soon as the banner turned. He motioned to Big Liddle who took out a warhorn longer than his head, carved from an auroch's horn, and banded with bronze. The eldest son of the clan chief of House Liddle was a mountain of a man with a voice like thunder. He lifted the great horn and blew, a long and low blast that carried far and wide, through the entire valley. Eddard Karstark and Smalljon immediately called to their men, and Jory barked an order to the Mormonts to assemble. The Winter Town boys, already mounted on ponies, took off to call on the drummer boys.

"Jon, the Boltons have started to attack." Arya said.

On the field, soldiers wearing the flayed man struck down confused Ryswell and Dustin forces. Jon had placed the two houses closest to see if they would also betray the North. They had not, and that would cost them their lives. The blood that Roose Bolton shared with those two houses clearly did not matter a whit.

The drumming began, a slow but steady beat. It was uneven at first, but then the smallfolk boys managed to follow the beat, and the crack of drums could be heard over the field. Lord Beric and his Brotherhood, Ser Raymund Mallory, the Faith Militant, smallfolk, Manderlys, Glovers, Liddles, Flints, Burleys and Wulls - all of them began to retreat, first a slow walk, then an orderly pace, and lastly, a swift trot backwards. For a full moon, the pikemen practiced only two movements, and today they executed the second flawlessly. The bulging crescent vanished and then reversed, as the Northern infantry formed into a tighter semi circle. This time, the central position was held by Mormonts, and Karstark and Umber infantry held guarded the flanks.

Along the mile of the backward bending crescent, the Wintertown boys dismounted, waving the banner of the White Wolf at six points. The infantry marched to the sigils, and the first to arrive were the pikemen. They stopped and turned, and the new formation took shape. Jon had sacrificed the lives of House Dustin and Ryswell, but that was only a few hundred men.

* * *

At Highgarden, Ser Garlan drilled often against three or four combatants, trying his best to simulate war. Nothing could prepare him for the smell and sound of a real battle. Thousands of men and horses stank, and that before the fighting began. He had heard men shat themselves when they died. He had not expected them to do so before even fighting. Green boys, nervous despite their bragging, fouled their breeches, and the battlefield already smelled like shit. Ser Garlan was too far to smell the blood and guts of the men butchered by the Boltons but he could hear their screams of surprise and shrieks of pain. Unlike the songs, few men died cleanly in war. Wounded men took a long time to die.

"Look at the Northmen running for their lives!" Orton Merryweather whooped. The Reach men anxiously waited for their chance to advance. Some rushed ahead despite their orders.

"We had best attack soon - else we will be too late for any glory." Lord Oakheart said.

"I will take the White Wolf's banner as a prize." A knight boasted as he began his charge.

Then Ser Garlan heard the drummers beating in a slow rhythm. **Boom. Boom. Boom.** The noise had been hidden in the thunder of hooves and howls of dying men. Was the North sounding a retreat? He saw the banners far away, near the copper waters of the lake. There were many of them - a white wolf on dark field - waving proudly in the air.

Something did not make sense. The Northern center was breaking under pressure. Lannister cavalry and Lord Tarly charged ahead to bolster the Bolton attack and men from the Reach poured into the breach. But at the left and right hills, the Northmen and the Rivermen had not retreated. Ser Brynden Tully remained with the Rivermen. On the other side, the banner of House Stark - a gray wolf on white - stood still. Garlan knew that Robb Stark and Jon Snow were close. If one was threatened, the other would come to the rescue. And yet, even as the Northern infantry fell back, the cavalry had not reacted. Why would they not move? The horses stayed still for a long while as the battle raged, and the Reach chased the overmatched infantry further. Finally, at long last, the enemy cavalry began to move.

Ser Garlan's eyes widened in shock. Robb Stark was not retreating. He was advancing, and so were the Rivermen under the Blackfish. Something was terribly wrong.

* * *

The semi circle had solidified into a mass of pikes and spears. Along the crescent, companies of pikemen had lowered their weapons, the long spears giving cover for the other Northern forces to reassembly. Jon was at the center of the new line with Jory and the Mormont foot soldiers. Behind him, Nymeria and Ghost waited silently, guarding Arya. Behind her, Gendry and the other Winter Town boys were mounted, in case he needed a messenger. Jon glanced back at the lake, looking for the riverboats. Then he remembered the words of Leaf on the Isle of Faces.

Water magic. _"Use the water against your enemies."_ There was power in blood, and he was the blood of the dragon. Jon turned to the water. The Isle of Faces was the last bastion of magic where the weirwood trees grew stronger and stranger. Why did they grow there? Was it merely a reserve for the children or did the greenseers choose the Isle for a reason? Jon had read the legends of the Children and listened to the Citadel argue that those were only tall tales. Archmaester Cassander claimed the Arm of Dorne formed from hot summers and short winters on the Shivering Sea, not the Hammer of the Waters, and that the swamps of the Neck existed long before the Andal invasion. But what did an archmaester really know?

Jon reached for the water. He let his mind sink deep into the God's Eye. The lake stretched forever, a sheet of sun hammered blue. Something lay underneath the surface - strange, alien and dark. Blue eyes that burned bright, blue blood that did not bleed, and pale skin whiter than the moon on a clear night. The cold struck Jon - bitter cold, that numbed the mind and froze the skin. The cold rose and spread, and birds fled, and fish shivered. The color drained from the God's Eye, the warm water sucked down to the depths, and the lake began to swirl.

Jon pushed further. Fierce waves roiled the God's Eye, slamming into the shore, the crests riding high. The sky turned gray, as the very air was pulled down by the lake. Pulled into the cold depths, by the magic of the God's Eye. Jon realized what would happen next. The wind came, a powerful strong breeze that blew from the lake, whipping the air into a frenzy. The wind howled, blowing over the lake. Blowing West into the faces of the enemy.

"Jory, Arya, Gerry." Jon yelled and pointed to the sky. "Dust - we need dust."

Jory was the first to understand him. She slammed her spear into the dirt, and a small cloud of dust went up. Jory gaped as the gray dust billowed in the field, caught by the fierce wind.

"Mormonts. What are our words?" Jory cried to her men.

"Here we stand." The fighters in full plate armor, greathelms and steel shields cried back.

The She-Bear stamped her steel boots, and thumped the butt of her spear on dirt. A thousand Mormonts did the same, and the huge cloud of dust blew directly into the Tyrell-Lannister army. Other North and Rivermen began to mirror the Mormonts, and more clouds of dust rose. The wind continued to blow, throwing the grit and dirt into enemy eyes. He turned away, breaking the link with the God's Eye. The lake held magic and mystery but he had no time now. As the warmth returned to his blood, Jon hefted his spear and waited to meet the enemy. Behind him, the air howled and the sky turned gray and ashen. He was ready for the battle.

* * *

At the back, Ser Garlan tried to understand what was happening. The surge of knights, spearmen, and swordsmen should have swept away the weak enemy line. Victory seemed inevitable as the Reach charged into the center, led by treacherous Boltons. But the powerful onslaught lost its momentum, and the advance slowed and then ceased altogether. Men still continued to pour in from the back, and knights and foot soldiers were crammed together, in their eagerness to see battle.

The drumming stopped. The Northern infantry had regathered under Jon Snow's banner. The long spears that had been pointed harmlessly into the sky now faced forward. Squares of pikes controlled the battlefield, soldiers crouching down to brace the butt of the pike in between their feet. A forest of spearheads bristled at chest level for the horses, and formed two diagonal lines, forcing the Tyrell army inward toward the center of the Northern line. The air was full of the groans of the wounded, the sound of blows to flesh or armor, the mingled shouting of the confident and the terrified. And over it all, a wind blew - a cold devil wind from the lake, whipping dirt and earth into men's eyes. From the edge, Ser Garlan could barely see through the torrent of dust. The conditions in the center must have been far worse.

"Ser Garlan." His gangly squire, Alyn Ambrose, yelled. "We are under attack."

Ser Garlan pivoted to the right, ready to take on the Blackfish. The Rivermen scouts pushed forward but were still contained by the Oakhearts and the Cranes.

"Ser, Ser…." Alyn screamed in fear. "Not that way - the other side. The Young Wolf."

Ser Garlan had positioned himself on the center right. The Stark banner had been to the far left. If Robb Stark was here, that meant the cavalry guarding the Tyrell left flank must be dead or dying. Ser Garlan tried to wheel his men around desperately to meet the attack. He saw Lord Umber's giant in chains and the Karstark's white sun, but it was a mounted Robb Stark and the monstrous wolf running at full speed that led them. On the wings, Stark's companions threw a barrage of javelins, killing men and horses alike. Alyn fell hard to the ground as his horse was slain. If there were more time, Ser Garlan might have sounded the horn for retreat. But it was too late. The Reach had fully committed themselves to the battle.

* * *

"They are coming." Jon said. Time had lost all meaning in the clamor and chaos of the battle. It felt like hours but he knew it had not taken long for the flayed men to cross the field. Jon hefted a spear and picked up his shield. If he died today, let him die, defeating his enemies.

"Gods, there are lots of them." Eddard Karstark said. The Bolton men outnumbered the center of the line two to one. And behind the Boltons, there were thousands more.

"A lot of fuckers means more men to kill." Smalljon Umber said. "Don't worry, Karstark. You look pretty enough already."

"Enough." Jon said through his war helm. The barbuta did not offer as much protection as Jory's visored bascinet. He stood next to the Mormont girl on the front line. "Time to fight." The Smalljon and Eddard joined, as the waiting came to an end.

The Mormonts formed a wall, the first rank a hundred men strong, with ten rows of men. The House of the She-Bear wore the best plate armor, steel shields, and carried stout weapons. Bolton men wore fur over mail, pink cloaks decorated with red raindrops and carried red shields decorated with the flayed man, hands stretched out.

House Bolton rushed forward, howling and snarling, and died on the shield wall, the pink cloaks turning red as their life blood spilled on the dirt and grass. Jon stabbed and stabbed - the speartip thrusting through mail hauberks. The ground turned muddy - but a red mud as hundreds of men fell. Row after row of Boltons died. They crashed against the wall but the Mormonts, with better armor, shields, and weapons won. There was little room for individual glory, Jon thought. The Mormonts were well rested and fighting in a row. The few enemy strikes that got past the sturdy shields glanced harmlessly off the steel plate. As Mormont men tired, fresh troops could replace the front ranks. For their frantic enemies, that was not possible. They were pushed by a sea of men to be butchered at the wall.

* * *

The Leech Lord approached, wearing a distinctive set of dark gray plate armor with rondels shaped like human heads screaming in agony and a helmet with fluttering streamers of red silk that matched his pink woolen cloak. Jon wondered whether Bolton chose this armor because he was certain of victory. Roose Bolton stood out on the battlefield like a sore thumb.

"Snow." Bolton had to yell because of the screams of the wounded.

"He wants to fight you, Jon." Jory said, breathing hard from the battle.

Jon motioned for Bolton to come. The Leech Lord walked closer, longsword in one hand, large shield protecting his torso in the other. Jon waited until he could see the cold pale eyes in the painted red helmet, and then he stabbed the spear down, the blade driving into the gap between the greave and the ankle plate of the sabaton. Bolton went down with a yell, clutching his wounded left leg and Jon twisted the spear, tearing tendons and breaking bones. The Leech Lord rolled on the dirt.

The Smalljon stepped forward and booted the heavy shield away. Eddard Karstark readied his long axe to strike. "Hold." Jon commanded. "Who ordered the betrayal, Bolton?"

Roose Bolton dropped his sword and took off his helm. His plain colorless face looked at Jon with a disturbing stillness. "You know already, Snow."

"Tywin Lannister. But I want you to confess and tell us what he promised you." Jon said.

"And why would I do that?" Bolton replied.

Jon jammed the spear through the other ankle, crippling the right leg. "You are not the only house with sharp blades."

Bolton screamed in pain. Jon lifted the bloody spear and smashed the shaft on the exposed bone, eliciting another moan of pain. "You haven't won, bastard. Tywin Lannister may still take your head." Bolton said.

"Maybe. But you have lost, Bolton. Your men are dead. Your house is dead. And soon enough, you will be dead too. You promised this morning to repay us for our trust. You have. You led the Reach into a trap." Jon turned as he heard the whistle over his shoulder, not at all like the wind.

The boats had finally arrived, piloted by Maturin Manderly and other men from White Harbor. Catapults launched rocks, and ballistas shot spears into the masses of confused Reachmen, their shields useless against missiles plummeting from high in the sky. The Tyrell army lost all cohesion as they desperately sought shelter, trampling and accidentally wounding each other in their retreat. Riders were thrown from dying horses, creating more confusion. Bodies began to pile up, both the dead and the wounded.

* * *

They were surrounded now on two sides. Ser Brynden Tully attacked their rear while Robb Stark and his companions assaulted the front. A knight with the sigil of a red castle on a white field fought like a demon, slaying three horsemen and wounding four others. Garlan defended himself from a spiked mace while Ser Mark Mullendore fall to a knight in red armor, marked with bronze runes. He had seen that wicked mace before at Riverrun in the hands of Dacey Mormont. In the Reach, girls were given dolls and sweets, and boys were taught never to hit girls. Those lessons clearly did not apply at Bear Isle. Ser Garlan blocked a powerful jab. His shield held but the force of the blow staggered him.

"Yield!" Robb Stark's voice boomed. "Yield, and you may still live."

An immensely fat man in green and gray plate mail used his bulk to smash into Garlan's young cousin, Garrett Flowers. The boy tottered and fell over the side of his horse, and only his right spur stuck in the stirrup stopped him from smashing into the ground. Behind him, the Blackfish disarmed Lord Oakheart. Ser Garlan knew that the concentrated force of the Rivermen, the North and the Vale knights would overwhelm them. As he blocked another vicious strike, arrows whistled in the air. One bounced off his horse's barding but others were not so lucky.

Ser Garlan did not fear facing one Northmen or even two fighters as skilled as Dacey Mormont. Being surrounded by five or six was too much. The situation was dire as Karstarks and Mallisters appeared at his flanks.

The sound of heavy hooves came from the East. A giant man on a huge destrier burst through the Reach infantry, riding back through the lines. With violent one-handed swings of his giant six foot sword, Gregor Clegane cut a bloody swath through Tyrell forces, leaving dead bodies left and right. Clegane had been posted near the front of the lines with Lord Tarly. The churl must have been fleeing the field, like a dog who had lost his master.

"It is the Mountain that Rides." a Northern knight with a sigil of a mailed fist said.

"Kill the bastard." A heavy man with a great gray steel helm with a red horsehair crest cried.

Robb Stark's men wheeled around to face Clegane. A tall rangy man with sign of the white sun thrust into the Mountain's right side, aiming for the armpit. The blade went between the plate but bounced off the mail underneath.

The Mountain turned and struck hard. The huge blade cleaved the Karstark man into two, slicing through the shoulder and the right side, severing the entire arm, like a butcher hacking a pig into pieces.

"Torrhen!" Another fighter wearing the white sun called. He thrust a spear hard at Clegane, the tip smashing hard on orange tabard of three black dogs. The barbed hook did not penetrate but was stuck in the thick plate armor.

Clegane lowered the tower shield. He ripped the spear away, first from the hands of his foe, then from his breastplate. The Karstark man's gauntleted hands grabbed the Mountain's right arm, in a wild attempt to wrestle away the bloody greatsword. The Karstark was strong and powerful, easily half a head taller than Garlan. He looked puny compared to the Mountain that Rides. The Mountain clubbed him with the edge of the shield, and then bashed with the shaft of the spear, driving Karstark to the ground. Had Clegane used the spear tip, his foe would be dead. Even with the shaft, Karstark lay prone and unmoving.

"Grey Wind." Robb Stark's voice rang out. "Kill the horse."

The great dire wolf attacked the horse's haunches, where Clegane could not reach. Grey Wind bit into the back right thigh, severing the leg at the knee. The horse squealed its death throes and fell hard. Ser Gregor, eight foot tall and in heavy thick plate and steel helm, stood up and swung his massive blade warily. Grey Wind snarled but did not pounce.

"Find spears. The Mountain is too deadly to attack with sword or mace. Use long spears and skewer him to death." Robb said.

Easier said than done. Most of the cavalry had already used their spears and were down to swords and axes for close hand to hand fighting. Another man rode near and cried in agony when he saw one Karstark cut in half, and the other lying unconscious.

In the confusion, Ser Garlan took out his ivory and gold banded horn. He blew the horn, a long and plaintive sound for a retreat. Garlan knew he was abandoning the other Reachman. But the carnage was terrible and his light cavalry had no chance of victory. The Northern infantry semicircle had held. On both sides of the field, Northern cavalry and footmen had snaked up. To his right, he could see the Malister winged helms and the Vance quartered shield. On the left, the Northern army had nearly completed the encirclement. Umbers, Karstarks, and Stark soldiers. And companies of pikemen held knights and infantry at bay in the tight confines of the crescent. If the sky was clear, and Tarly willing to retreat, the Reach might be able to escape with horrific losses. But the sky was full of dirt and dust, and judging from the Mountain's vicious attacks on allies, Tarly must still be trapped unless Clegane killed the Lord of Horn Hill in his flight. Garlan realized that the Tyrell army was packed so densely that they barely had space to see, let alone fight. There were tens of thousands of men stuck in the middle, wearing heavy helmets, heavy armor, and holding shields to the sky to defend against missile attack. They were dead men - they just did not know yet.

Gregor Clegane grabbed both of the Karstark horses by the bridle. He jumped on one, and in a show of stunning strength, pushed the other to block the dire wolf. Clegane galloped off, and Ser Garlan followed with what was left of the Tyrell light cavalry.

Garlan looked back. Robb Stark and his men were not pursuing. A less disciplined commander would have hunted the Mountain down. But the horses of the Northmen and the Reach aimed to close the trap shut. Robb Stark's cavalry ruled the battlefield completely. The enemy forces encircled the Tyrell army on three sides, and now, the enemy horse would attack the rear. Ser Garlan's first battle had not gone well.

* * *

The helmet sat on top of his forehead, so Jon could quench his thirst with cool lake water. There had been a lull in the fighting, and the Mormont front few ranks had taken a welcome breather. Jory, Eddard and the Smalljon rested as well while others maintained the shieldwall.

"Lord Snow." Gerry said. "Chett waved a white flag. They have run out of bolts and stones."

Archers and crossbowmen showered the enemy with missiles but the artillery on the boat was done. Even the wind had died down, although the sky was still gray with dust. Jon realized the cold in the water generated the wind, and that faded with time.

"Jon!" Arya said, pointing West. "Something strange is going on there." Across the battlefield, a half of a mile away, he could see banners, assembling.

"Umber - what do you see?" Jon said.

"Lots of dead cunts." The Smalljon japed.

"This is serious. What are the banners?" Jon said, standing up.

"Some ponce in red shooting arrows to the left. That burning orange tree at the Golden Tooth. Green and Red apples. Cranes. A golden tree. Grapes. Leaves. These Southron cunts have stupid banners. Who is scared of grapes or apples?" the Smalljon guffawed.

"They are gathering their horses." Jory said.

Jon stood up, buckled his sword, and picked up the spear. "We have to go. Randyll Tarly is no fool." He said.

"What's happening?" Arya asked.

"We have trapped the Tyrell army. If Robb succeeded, then we surround them on all four sides. Tarly has realized that, and knows that if he does not break out, we will slaughter them where they stand. Charging straight into the pikes is death. His own forces prevent him from turning back. And even if they did, they would run into Robb's cavalry. Tarly means to break the circle by rushing forward. He will happily kill five thousand of his men so that ten thousand can escape." Jon said.

"But we have held off their attack the entire day." Eddard said. "We have lost a few dozen, and killed many hundreds."

"A thousand tired Boltons who fought their way through the field can be beaten by a shieldwall. But ten thousand men rushing at us in a desperate attempt to escape is another matter. We have less than a thousand fighters and the front line is only a hundred men. Tarly means to break free by overwhelming us." Jon said.

"My Lord - what about traps or pits or building a wall?" Gerry said. That had been impossible before because the infantry needed to retreat before the Reach.

"We have little time. Also at the Red Fork, we had the cover of the Trident so we would not be attacked. Stlll…." Jon thought quickly. "Gerry is right. A few hundred men can dig multiple trenches. Four or five feet wide - Four feet deep. Any horse charging would break their legs and it would be easy to defend. Start to dig here. But I will fight at the shieldwall."

"But Jon, why not fight at the trench?" Arya asked.

"We can't dig the trench without cover. We will resist the Tarly charge as long as possible and buy as much time possible to fortify. There are simple defenses we can built at the shieldwall. We can stack enemy bodies in piles and fight behind them." Jon said.

"You heard the Maester. Let's gather whatever wood we can get." Gerry cried to the other Winter Town boys.

"But Jon, a few piles of bodies won't be enough to stop so many men." Arya said. "I will fight with you."

"Absolutely not." Jon said. "I pray that Robb is alive but if he is dead, you are my heir. You will be Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North." Arya looked angry, and then sad.

"I am going with you. I am just a third son." Eddard said, grabbing his long axe.

Jon turned to Smalljon Umber. "You are the heir to Last Hearth. Stay here and oversee the trench digging."

"Fuck that." Smalljon spat. "I am not letting a Karstark outdo me. I have every right to be a hero and protect the North."

They stood face to face or rather face to chin, given the Smalljon was a head taller. "You will be a hero. If Tarly gets past our wall, the trenches will stop the Reach from escaping. This is a direct order, Umber. If men in the army don't follow orders, everyone will die. And if I die, I need someone to take command, and bring Arya to Robb."

"I don't need the Smalljon. I can kill southerners as well as he can." Arya yelled.

"Spoken like a true Northern lass. Alright, Snow - I will do it. But when the wolf girl is safe, I am going to kill as many of these apple and grape and turnip knights as I can. My father can bring my bones North." Smalljon said.

Arya stormed off and Nymeria loped after her. Ghost stayed at Jon's side. Jon hoped his sister would be safe with her wolf.

Jory Mormont strutted over and planted a wet sloppy kiss on Jon's mouth. "I am not inheriting. We will fight together, Snow, and then I will drag you to Bear Isle."

"Watch it, Snow. She will chain you to her bed and have you satisfy all the She-Bears." Smalljon Umber japed.

"That won't be a problem for me." Jon retorted.

"That may include her mother, Lady Maege." Smalljon roared with glee. "If you die Snow, I was glad to serve with you. You are a glorious bastard." Jon supposed that was a compliment.

"I hope the Stranger does not come for you, my lord." Gerry said.

"Death comes when it does. Who wants to live forever?" Jon said. He left with Jory at his side, and Eddard guarding the back. The parting with Arya had gone poorly but her safety was more important than a fond farewell.

* * *

In the end, the fortification at the front was simple, thanks to Gerion. The clever boy noticed that the broken spears and shattered weapons littered the battlefield. The Winter Town boys took a log and covered it with many projecting wooden shafts or spears. The spikes ran diagonally, like sharp X's. Three or four men could fight easily behind a defense. It would not stop a massive attack but it would slow down the enemy.

Every bit of time was valuable. In time, Robb's cavalry would close the pocket and the battle would turn into mass slaughter. Further, to be trapped inside with thousands of dead bodies would be enormously distressing to the Reachmen. Robb's army could fall back to rest, retrieve their wounded and send fresh troops to relieve the front line. The encircled forces had little room to maneuver. The ability to replace troops gave House Stark an enormous advantage over the doomed Reachmen.

Tarly's attack came. Far off, Jon could see panic as the infantry on the wings pivoted and charged inward. The rest of the army was herding the enemy into a tight square. When Robb attacked, the enemy would fall like wheat before a scythe. Jon knew he needed to fight for time.

Desperate men surged forward, dying in great numbers. A horse raced through and jumped over a gap between two of the wooden defenses. Jon stabbed his spear upwards, ripping a gash so deep, the entrails fell out. Ghost put the white destrier out of its misery with a bite through the neck, and Jon stunned Ser Addam Marbrand with a shield bash to the head. A Winter Town boy snatched away Ser Addam's sword and bound the knight's hands tightly.

The Mormonts fought with great fury, proving their house words - Here We Stand. Still, the horde of enemy fighters took their toll. Spears impaled many Reachmen but the attack continued and through the line, the Northmen gave ground before the horde. The front line lost half its number and was forced to retreat behind another set of spiked logs. The Reachmen were dying but they had many times their number. A man at arms with a golden centaur landed a hit, knocking Jory's mace to the ground. Jon thrust his sword through the aventail, the flexible curtain of metal that covered the neck and shoulders. The man gurgled and died, and Jory retrieved her weapon.

"Gerry." Jon yelled. "The pikemen must advance now. Tell the drummer boys." The boy rushed to obey as Jon fended off three men. Ghost ripped a man's shoulder clean off, and Jon stabbed another through the throat. The third soldier stepped to his right, only to slip in the pool of blood oozing from the torn shoulder. Ghost finished him before Jon could thrust his blade through the visor of the steel helmet.

The Reachmen continued their attack. On his left, Eddard fell to a hard blow that shattered the shield on his left arm. Jon protected the youngest Karstark against attackers but too much space had opened up between Jon and Jory. Reachman surged into the gaps, hacking away with maces, axes and swords. Thanks to Ghost, he still stood, but he wondered how much longer that would last. Many of the Mormont soldiers were down, dead or injured.

* * *

The drumming began again. This time, it was not slow booming sound. Quick rat-a-tats rang through the battlefield, and the noise panicked the Reachmen. Their fear was justified. Pikemen, guarded by archers and infantry, jogged forward in a steady formation, weapons held at shoulder level, and skewering men with ease. The pocket for the Tyrell - Lannister army continued to shrink as Northern spears, arrows and swords cut down the outer ranks and survivors were forced to pull back and huddle together. Behind him, the ground was full of half dug trenches that would prevent escape if Jon and the Mormonts fell in battle.

"Tarly." Jon shouted.

The Lord of Horn Hill wore mail and boiled leather with only a breastplate of grey steel for stronger protection. He wielded a Valyrian steel two handed greatsword, Heartsbane. Lord Tarly raised his helmet to reveal a sneer on his serious face.

"Surrender, Lord Tarly. You can't win. Your men are trapped." Jon said.

"I will not be beaten by a green boy." Tarly snarled.

"No, you were beaten by two green boys. My brother Robb and myself." Jon said.

Tarly struck at the fortification, the Valyrian blade cutting through the wooden log like parchment. He grunted and stepped nearer, his sword pointed directly at Jon's torso.

Randyll Tarly was no Gregor Clegane but Heartsbane was five feet long from pommel to tip. Tarly's reach far surpassed his. The best strategy would be to tire out the Lord of Horn Hill. Jon stayed on his toes, backing away at any potential strike. Tarly used the remains of the spiked log to guard his back, preventing Ghost from flanking him.

"Jon!" Arya's voice called out.

"Arya. What are you doing here?" Jon turned his eyes briefly. His sister ran toward him with Nymeria. Lightly armed fighters with short broad sabres charged with her.

"I got the boats to land." Arya said. Behind her, Chett and the other Winter Town boys shot bolts and whirled stones while the sailors reinforced the remaining Mormonts.

With Nymeria, and few hundred fresh reinforcements, Tarly's forces fled. Lord Tarly though was more stubborn. He swung the two hander straight down at his foe. Jon blocked the greatsword but the force drove him to his knees and his blade down to the ground. Time seemed to slow as Heartsbane drew back.

Before the Valyrian blade could come down for a killing blow, Jory Mormont struck Tarly's shoulder with her morning star. The furious Lord of Horn Hill thrust the blade to his left, impaling the Mormont girl through her breastplate. Before the sword could be pulled out, Jon slammed his right gauntlet into Tarly's mail codpiece. Tarly screamed in pain, and fell over. Jon smashed Tarly's ugly face with a shield, breaking his nose and knocking him out.

Jon ran over to the fallen She-bear. The sword was still plunged in her body, and faint traces of blood appeared on her lips. Her eyes were still open and her teeth gritted in pain.

"Seems like we won't go back to Bear Isle together." She said, coughing flecks of blood.

Jon wrapped his arms around the dying girl. "I am sorry, Jory. I never meant for this."

"Give them hell for me, Snow. See you on the other side." Jory grinned her toothy charming smile and then her eyes closed forever.

Jon held her still warm body. He could almost imagine that she was sleeping.

* * *

Robb rode through the battlefield to the lake. The carnage was immense - stacks of slain men, Reachmen, Westermen, Northmen and Rivermen alike. Corpses looked the same in death, he thought. Thousands of horses lay dead and already flies buzzed over pools of blood and dead flesh. As a boy, he had thought there might be a terrible beauty in war. There was none here. War was only terrible.

Robb had spared most of the enemy army. Ser Baelor Hightower had ridden unarmed to his Battle Guard and surrendered in the sight of many Reachmen. The Heir of Oldtown begged for the lives of his men. Even the North and the Rivermen had suffered thousands of deaths, and thousands more injured. Robb granted mercy despite some angry bannermen. House Stark was fierce in battle but not butchers. Wolves did not kill for sport.

After Ser Baelor surrendered, dozens of lords and knights rushed to do the same - Lord Oakheart, Ser Parmen Crane, Jon Fossoway, Orton Merryweather. He did not catch all the names. They cast down their weapons and took off their armor. Robb passed through the killing fields, shocked at the brutality of the battle. Soldiers saluted him and prisoners fell to their hands and knees as he rode by with Grey Wind. His guards stayed close but after the death of so many, there was little appetite for more fighting. Men on all sides were happy to be alive.

Grey Wind saw Arya first. His sister, with the help of the dire wolves and the Smalljon, watched over the injured and the prisoners - Roose Bolton, Addam Marbrand, Randyll Tarly and many more. Here too, at the edge of the God's Eye, the slaughter was immense. There were many Northmen and Rivermen dead. He smelled blood and vomit and feces, and thousands had been killed in terrifying ways, bodies mangled and limbs hacked off. Robb said a prayer over the hundreds of dead Mormonts, the bravest and most loyal of the Northern army. Jon crouched over Jory's body. Robb waited in silence for his brother to rise.

**Author's Notes**

A yari is a Japanese spear, and the art of the spear is called sojutsu. The Chinese spear of the martial art movies (check out Michelle Yeoh in Crouching Tiger) is the qiang, with a leaf shaped blade and the red horse hair tassel. Oberyn uses the yari because the blade is long and can slice, as well as stab.

Myrcella is 11 when her ear is chopped off and she is disfigured in the inept Arianne Martell plot. In the show, she is older and killed with poison by Ellaria after Oberyn dies in King's Landing. Either way, it is a fairly depressing fate.

_"Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy."_ These are the words of Marwyn the Mage to Samwell Tarly at the Citadel in the Feast of Crows. If the Lightning Lord declares Jon Snow Azor Ahai reborn, it seems likely that the impressionable Edric would repeat the story.

The Forresters are the Lords of Ironath - the largest source of ironwood trees in the North. The characters are from the Telltale Game Series.

The medieval cream cakes are from the website, the Inn at the Crossroads. The other Dornish food is cobbled from other sources. The Dornish are spicy!

The Martells are the book version. That means Quentyn is flailing in Essos, Arianne mid 20s, and Trystane 12. There are 8 Sand Snakes - 4 older ones with Sarella the youngest - early 20s. The four children of Ellaria Sand range from 14 to 6. In my mind, the Sand Snakes are (much) lesser versions of Arya. But Arya is super awesome.

I am not sure who is to blame for Doran coming off as an idiot in the books. His whole plan is a Targaryen restoration, which makes sense when you think of how close the Martells are to the dragons in the last century. Five Targs married Dornish. But in the book, Doran comes off as incompetent. His middle child burns to death, trying to tame a dragon. Arianne actively screws up his plans. And his revenge is dependent on Arianne marrying Viserys who is an idiot, and then fake Aegon (where he gets suckered by Varys and llyrio.) Maybe it is just an unreliable narrator (Arianne), but Doran comes off as a cartoon villain.

I thought about making the dialogue between the Snakes/Arianne and Doran more strained but decided against it. First, Oberyn isn't dead - the primary source of the tensions. Second, Arianne is similar to her dad - she keeps all these secrets and plots. So none of the Tyrells are totally honest which makes them incompetent. Then again, all the suspense in Game of Thrones is driven by wacky prophecies or people lying to family.

The conversation that Jon and Arya have about ancient war is accurate. Most casualties are taken when the battle is lost, and the fleeing people get killed. The death toll in ancient battles are lop sided because when you flee, the cavalry can easily hunt you down. The Roman legion manage this in two ways. The legion was organized in three separate lines, the** hastati** (the least trained), the **principes** (experienced soldiers), and the** triarri,** the veterans. The front troops, the **hastat**i, were inexperienced so in theory, they were young and eager for glory. Also, they were cheap cannon fodder and expendable. If they ran, the soldiers behind them would order them to fight or kill them. The third rank of troops, the** triarii**, were the reserve, and fought with long spears rather than the sword. They often did not fight in battles - because the first two ranks were enough - and when they did, they used phalanx tactics. I forgot where this is from but I read an article where the most senior fighter was put in front and the second most senior fighter was put in the row in the back. It is the same idea - make sure others don't flee by having your most trusted men in the critical areas.

The scene where Sansa meets the Tyrells is one of my favorites but one question nags at me. Did the Tyrells really not know Joffrey was vicious and cruel? I understand that there are always secrets about the court, and the story of his dismembering a cat would be suppressed. BUT, Loras is Renly Baratheon's lover and Margaery his wife. How could Renly not be aware of his nephew's nature? He was on the Small Council and in King's Landing for years. I know GRRM wants to make Varys, Baelish, and Tyrion super aware, but if the Starks can realize Joffrey is a shit in five seconds, so can others. So, I have the Tyrells ask Sansa about her brothers instead.

We never get a real sense of how good Robb is at actual fighting. He is much more of a general than a hero. For Jon, he has to fight for his life many times.

The Jory speech echoes the great quote by Hugo Wull when he marches off to kill the Boltons. It is good writing when he answers a question _"Do you want to die, Wull?"_ The best three lines start with _"Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die."_

The Tarly battle plan is simple, uncreative but effective. Tarly commits his knights and footmen into a wedge to break the line. He is confident that his superior numbers will carry the day.

The actual quote is _"What have we become, when kings and high lords must dance the twittering of sparrows?"_ Randyll Tarly says this to Kevan Lannister right before he gets killed by Varys. It is unfortunately the last piece of GOT that was published by GRRM. I am up in the air on the whole religious issues in the story. I thought it was interesting, showing the machinations around the church. On the show, Cersei blows up the Sept effectively ended everything and religion is never mentioned again. You wonder if GRRM will just discard it so casually or whether in the books, the Faith of the Seven has a more meaningful role to play. Personally, I think the idea of a vengeful templar like society is pretty neat, with the caveat that it would easily go out of control and focus on the Starks (wargs!) or the dragons.

This is the Battle of Cannae - Hannibal versus two consuls in Rome. Hannibal had 40,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry. His cavalry was superior and it was comprised of Numidians (present day Algeria), Spanish and Gauls. The Romans had 6,400 cavalry (but the quality was poor) but 80,000 infantry. So in terms of infantry, the Romans had double the Carthaginians. The Roman strategy was based on previous battles where they lost but still broke Hannibal's center. They had succeeded twice in this, the Romans wanted to simplify the battle - they wanted to avoid the trickery of Trebia and Trasimene, where Hannibal used deception and terrain to win. So, the Romans did a brute force attack. It did not go very well.

Echelon sounds like a modern term. But Polybius, a Greek historian who lived in ancient Rome, actually described the Carthaginian deployment in those terms. It is the V shaped formation that a flock of geese or ducks fly in. The first known recorded usage is by the Thebans at the Battle of Leuctra but it was also used by Alexander the Great.

Lysa Arryn declares the Knights of the Vale to be bold and true before Tyrion's trial in the Eyrie. Forgetting that she is a crazy woman who nurses her eight year old, I always thought the words _"As High as Honor"_ to be a bit pompous. On the other hand, the Reach claims to be the heart of chivalry. It should be noted that neither the Eyrie or the Reach do well in the GOT, which says something about the value GRRM places on bold knights. Or that their leaders are dolts.

Plutarch writes that before Cannae, a Carthaginan officer named Gisgo wondered about the size of the Roman army. Hannibal says _"There is one thing, Gisgo, yet more astonishing which you take no notice of. In all those great numbers before us, there is not one man called Gisgo."_ Hannibal, like many of the great generals and Robb Stark, knew how to motivate his men.

When Jon tells Arya to rest and eat, he is not kidding. In the actual battle of Cannae, the armies stayed in their locations for two days. Hannibal actually offered battle on the second day but the consul in charge refused. The Roman army was commanded by two consuls, who switched off for each day. Clearly it was not the best way to run an army.

The heraldry of House Bolton is different in the book than the TV show. The book image, a red flayed man on pink with bloody drops in the background, is cool but it is on a pink background. The show image is on black which works better on a battlefield.

In the TV show, the White Walkers are ice zombies - the undead with bones and muscles made from ice and snow. But I think the intent of GRRM in the books is different. In an interview, GRRM describes the Others as the **Sidhe** made of ice, so magical elves that are more than human and not just shambling creatures. On the TV show, there is an episode where Bran discovers the Children of the Forest created the Night King, as a way to protect themselves from man. But in the books, the Night King falls in love with a woman with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Then he rules the Night Fort and makes sacrifices to the Others. The book version is way cooler and implies the Others are far more powerful whereas TV makes it sound like some sort of bad karma - juju. I like the book version much more.

Before I get accused of making Jon OP with Gandalf like powers, the water in the lake is magically getting colder. Cold lake, warm land - the wind goes from the lake to the shore. If the lake is warm, but the land is cold - you have a sea breeze. So in the story, the waves of the water make the wind blow. I am sure some scientists or meteorologist will say this is impossible but this is magic. Now, why is this relevant? At Cannae, the wind did blow directly into the eyes of the Romans. The hot libecco wind blew dust and grit from the south! Hannibal arranged his troops to face north, the Romans were fighting south. This really helped Hannibal win. Clearly, and this is what amazes me, Hannibal took advantage of the terrain even fighting on Roman land.

There are many parts of Cannae but the key to the battle is the behavior of the Roman legions. You can make a number of excuses - the consuls were inexperienced, this was the largest army ever assembled, after two losses, they were eager to exact vengeance on Hannibal. But it goes to a basic point - breaking the enemy line is crucial in ancient war. The killing really starts when the line is broken and your cavalry hunts down the fleeing troops. Tarly thought Bolton turning coat would be a huge shock, and then the press of 30,000 men would overwhelm the North. In his mind, either is sufficient for victory. When they saw the mixed infantry dropping back, every instinct is to press forward and kill the enemy. And that is the heart of Jon and Robb's plan.

I looked up some historical info on trench digging. The British guidelines say it would take 450 men 6 hours to dig 275 yards of a trench seven feet deep, six feet wide. Now of course, those Brits have better shovels and picks, but they are not as burly as the Smalljon. 275 yards is 1/6th of a mile so wider than the frontage the Mormonts are guarding.

So what Gerry comes up with is called a _**cheval de frise**_ \- a medieval anti cavalry defense. This remained in use until the American civil war - when it was replaced by barbed wire. Even in WWI, Europeans used these for gaps in the barbed wire. The origin comes from the Frisians who are mostly Dutch. They lacked horses, so when they fought the Spanish cavalry, they used these spiked wood or metal obstacles.

I have emphasized how brutal this battle was. Some people might note that a lot of Lannisters died at Riverrun. The difference is that the battlefield at the God's Eye, like Cannae, is compact. The bodies are concentrated in one small area. And the actual descriptions of the carnage at Cannae are hideous.

In retrospect, the Battle of Cannae sounds easy - just like the Battle of the God's Eye. And yes, a much more cautious approach would have blunted the Carthaginian trap. But the double envelopment, aka the pincer movement, is hard to pull off - particularly as Hannibal did against a larger force with better infantry. It was a complex plan that required substantial coordination on the soldiers, officers and overall leader. The Carthaginian cavalry at Cannae was incredibly disciplined - it made three charges, never lost cohesion, and drove off the enemy forces. This, Robb's role, was necessary to complete the entrapment. Second, Hannibal stood in the center behind the Gaulish and Iberian forces. He needed the trap to take a long time, and he needed an orderly retreat. In the story, this is replaced by the drummer boys coordinating the retreat and the pikes. Once the pikemen turn with their spears, the Northern formation holds. Lastly, if you could break out from the trap with a huge push, Hannibal's strategy fails. This is what Lord Tarly is trying to do in that final charge.

Hannibal is not the only one to try this maneuver. He is not even the first to succeed at it. Herodotus believed the Greeks used it at the Battle of Marathon. Alexander the Great used it at the Battle of Hydaspes. Sun Tzu, in the sixth century BC, wrote about this but advised it against, thinking it would be better to leave the enemy an exit route. Then again, he wasn't facing two to one odds. Hannibal was one of the greatest generals in history and Jon and Robb follow in those footsteps - of course there is a bit more magic (the cold in the God's Eye) and some drama (Traitor Roose Bolton, Tarly being a jerk, and Jory's death.)

Cannae was not enough to win the war - there is a difference between tactics and strategy - but it continues to fascinate generals. The best example of this would be Dwight Eisenhower's quote. _"Every ground commander seeks the battle of annihilation; so far as conditions permit, he tried to duplicate in modern war the classic example of Cannae."_


	27. A Game of Shadows

**A Game of Shadows**

Arya thanked the old gods that a gentle seabreeze, not a violent wind, blew from the lake. The medical tent, erected after the battle, hummed with activity. Smallfolk, soldiers, squires, villagers, and even fishermen pitched in to deal with the deluge of the wounded. The smell of honey, oil, wine and vinegar dominated the tent, masking the stink of blood, and wounded flesh. Dressings of cotton and flax were soaked in warm water, wine or vinegar, ready to be applied after wounds were washed and cleaned. Fresh medical supplies and basins of heated water lay on a completely covered oak table, restocked as quickly as they were used.

Many hours had passed since the Battle of the God's Eye, and a line of soldiers still waited patiently for treatment. This was not due to a lack of urgency or preparation. Before the battle, large stocks of herbs, salves and other concoctions were readied. When fighting ended, the Winter Town boys drove carts to carry the wounded on stretchers to the tent. Jon and Talia had done their best to treat the severely wounded first. Not all of them could be saved, but many were stabilized. Broken bones were set, and wounds were closed. Jon had extracted arrows and crossbow bolts, amputated limbs, and demonstrated the proper cleaning, stitching, and care of wounds, emphasizing that bandages were to be kept moist and changed regularly. Then, her brother left, either to mourn Jory's death or to take charge of the prisoners.

Arya finished distributing food and drink - warmed hardtack and bone broth. They had no bowls so the soup was served in scavenged helmets, cleaned by boiling water. The Greatjon had drank two large helmets worth when a tray went flying through, scattering the slices of bread.

"Why are we healing these Reachmen? We should kill them all." In his grief, Lord Rickard had not combed or washed his hair or armor. His grey beard and hair was unkempt and the Karstark sunburst on his chest was stained with blood.

"The battle is over, my Lord." Talisa said, looking up from stitching a wound on a leg. The patient was a gangly squire whose well fed face contrasted with the gaunt Rickard.

"They are our enemies. We save our enemies and do nothing for our own men." Rickard ranted.

"My Lord. We have done everything we can. Jon Snow saw to your son Eddard. If all goes well, he will only lose two fingers. As for Harrion, Snow and I have both examined him. We must hope he wakes. We can do little now but wait." Talisa said.

"They butcher my son Torrhen, beat Harrion, and chop off Eddard's hand. And you want me to wait." he bellowed. He towered over the diminutive healer.

"Karstark." The Greatjon pointed at the fearful squire. "That one had nothing to do with it. He fell off his horse. The Mountain attacked your two older sons. Whoever struck Eddard is long dead."

"And what do you care, Umber? Your son was digging ditches when my son fought."

The Greatjon's face purpled, matching the large bruise on his cheek from an enemy mace. "Are you calling my son a coward? I thought Harrion was the only Karstark hit in the head."

The two powerful Northern lords circled each other. Rickard Karstark was tall, burly and fierce but the Greatjon's greatsword was longer than Arya. They had not drawn their weapons yet. Dacey Mormont whipped out her menacing steel morning star. She had been visiting her injured soldiers while Lyra attended the dead.

"If you idiots want to brawl, do it outside." Dacey snapped.

Karstark stormed off and the Greatjon sat down sheepishly. Besides the soon to be extinct Boltons, no House had suffered the losses of the Mormonts. Talia smiled gratefully before returning to her work.

"Dacey, I am so sorry about….." Arya said.

The She-Bear set the morning star down. "I miss her too, sweetling. But she died fighting and she caught her wolf - for a few nights at least."

"She saved my brother's life." Arya said.

"Bear Island is loyal to House Stark, and Jon Snow has Stark blood. And Jory was happy to stay at your brother's side. Snow vowed to return her bones to Mormont Keep." Dacey said. "I know my sister, Arya. She would not want us to mourn her death, but drink, eat, sing and make merry. Death is hardest for the living."

"How was the battle on your side?" Arya asked.

"Hard. There were many horsemen, guarding the flanks and they are good fighters. We were stronger but we took losses. And then Clegane came." Dacey said.

"Jon thought the Mountain would be with the Lannister men." Arya said.

"Clegane is a beast and a coward. He killed his own men and allies to escape. Snow told us that they hoped to kill him with pikemen. A good plan, better than fighting hand to hand. I understand why Lord Rickard is angry. His sons had no chance against the Mountain."

"Why do monsters live when good people die?" Arya said.

"The war is not over. Clegane has escaped twice - at the Trident and at the God's Eye. His luck may still run out." Dacey said.

* * *

Robb surveyed the men from both sides occupied by the grim task of locating fallen comrades. Headless trunks, severed limbs, and bloated bodies littered the battlefield. Five thousand men had died at the Field of Fire, burned by the three Targaryen dragons. Ten thousand had fallen with Daemon Blackfyre at the Redgrass Field. And now over twenty thousand men lay dead at the Battle of the God's Eye. Some bodies were unrecognizable, crushed or buried without mercy as the Northern trap constricted the life out of the enemy forces.

"Lord Stark." The speaker was Ser Garibald, a knight who had forsworn a minor house in the Crownlands for the star crystals and the seven colored cloak of the Warrior's Sons. He escorted six women in dull grey shrouds and cowls, stained with dried blood, and a tired septon.

"My Lord." The septon bowed nervously. "The Seven Pointed Star says that the afterlife is a sweet surcease, where men and women can voyage to a far off land to laugh and love and feast until the end of days in the Father's Golden Hall. We know there are seven heavens and seven hells, and that a godly man will…'

"Get on with it." The Blackfish barked.

"Lord Stark, sinners who do not repent of their crimes go to Hell. The silent sisters wish to cleanse the bodies, and prepare them for burial. Then the septons, by offering prayers over the grave, will guide them to heaven." Ser Garibald said.

"If there are no prayers, they may be damned forever." The septon squeaked.

"Let the Boltons go straight to hell. Roose will join them soon." The Greatjon chortled.

The Greatjon might not have cared about the Faith but that was not true for the Rivermen, the Vale knights, and the Manderlys. "How many silent sisters do you have?" Robb said.

"A dozen, my Lord but there are motherhouses nearby in the Crownlands. We could triple our numbers in a few days, and call even more in a week's time." the septon said.

Robb shook his head. "That is not enough. Even at a thousand bodies a day, it would take over a fortnight. We do not have the time. Jon says that unburied bodies carry disease that will afflict the living. I will not have injured men die to honor those already dead. But I will allow a barrow to be raised over the battlefield. You may clean the bodies and collect the bones after they are burned. Say what prayers and bury them as you will."

"Thank you, my lord." the septon said, and men and women of the Faith left to tend to the dead.

"Bah, why do we care? Why aren't we marching to King's Landing?" Lord Karstark yelled.

"Our men are tired. Our horses are tired. We have many injured. And we have prisoners." Robb said. The North had captured as many men as they killed. The Reachmen were stripped of armor and weapons but still required guards.

The veins on Karstark's neck bulged as he continued his rant. "I say we kill them all. We should have slaughtered them on the field. Kill the prisoners now and be done with these traitors."

"They surrendered in battle, my Lord. I granted them mercy." Robb snapped.

"Mercy? What mercy did Tywin Lannister give your father? Or the Mountain give Torrhen?" Karstark said.

"Our prisoners did not kill your son." Robb said.

"Then give me leave to hunt the Mountain. I will chase him to King's Landing and bring you back his head." Karstark said.

"No. We do not know the terrain from here to King's Landing. Some Tyrell forces escaped. And they will certainly post lookouts on the Goldroad and the Kingsroad. They may ambush your forces if you move South now." Robb said.

"You may know how to win a battle, Lord Stark, but you do not know how to win a war." Karstark stomped off, past the other Northern lords.

"Karstark is just angry over his sons." The Greatjon said.

"I know, my Lords. That is why I will overlook his remarks." Robb said. Then again, he was not certain he could punish Karstark. House Bolton was gone with its two thousand men. The survivors from House Dustin and House Ryswell could be counted on two hands. As for House Mormont, half of their men died fighting. The rest were injured.

"Lord Stark, what do you plan next?" The Blackfish said.

Robb was not certain. He was not afraid of confronting the Tyrell army on the field. Attacking a city with tall walls, and then the Red Keep on Aegon's High Hill was an entirely different matter. And inside the Red Keep, Jon said there was an even stronger fortress - Maegor's Holdfast. Horses and cavalry would matter little in such a fight. "For now, it is more important that our wounded return to health. We will see what the Iron Throne does in answer."

"You will have to address the prisoners. We cannot guard so many for very long." Brynden said.

Robb nodded. He would need to see his brother. They had to deal with Bolton permanently.

* * *

Jon Snow left the tent with the most valuable prisoners. There was the Leech Lord, who refused to speak, a few dozen Reachmen who were happy to divulge any secrets, and Randyl Tarly whose only words were yelling at his two sons to be quiet. He walked to the pewter waters of the God's Eye. The lake felt cool to the touch, and he could see stars reflected above.

Something strange had happened here that afternoon, something inhuman and dangerous. The lake nearly froze - and there was cold worse than any summer storm in the North. Jon knew very little about magic but he knew this. It was impossible for him to be able to perform any such sorcery. Seeing through the eyes of a wolf or a raven was one thing. But the God's Eye was the largest lake in the Seven Kingdoms. And the water had been warm and green in the morning. It was barely conceivable that a Rhoynar water wizard or a dragonlord, in the Age of Heroes, could freeze a lake. But he certainly could not.

Something was under the waters here that stole all the warmth and color. He saw faces : death pale and bloodless. Warriors marching - blue eyes and pale white skin. They wore ornate armor and carried long crystal swords, that glowed faintly, like blue stars and moonlight. They vanished into white mist, and Jon wondered again what he saw. Was this the past? Or perhaps the future. Had they ruled the God's Eye thousands of years ago? These creatures had brought the cold, and they far surpassed any threat from the Tyrells or Lannisters.

"Jon." The voice of his brother broke his mind from the spell. He turned to see two dire wolves with Robb, an energetic Grey Wind and a silent Ghost.

He stood and walked away from the lake. There were things that he could not explain to Robb, and that included strange creatures of ice and cold.

"Have the prisoners talked?" Robb asked.

"The Reachmen have. The Tyrells still have men in the capital, five to ten thousand swords. Half the Lannister army fought here, and the other half is with Lord Tywin. And the Throne has mercenaries, gold cloaks, and more guardsmen." Jon said.

"And what of Bolton?"

"He refuses to answer our questions. I doubt he will break. He has nothing to lose and he will not tell us how he sent or received messages." Jon said.

"Whoever acted as his messenger may be dead. All the flayed men were killed on the field." Robb said.

"Perhaps, but he hid his bastard in another House. Bolton is cunning. There may be other spies for the Lannisters still in our army." Jon said.

"Did Tarly say anything?" Robb said.

"That one also wants to be quiet. But his sons say a man delivered a message this morning. They did not see the face or a sigil. The plot seems to be between Tywin and Roose Bolton, and Tarly, as commander, was informed. Ser Baelor and the other Reach Lords claim no knowledge of the treachery." Jon said.

"Karstark wants to march for King's Landing. He desires the Mountain's head. But I do not know if we have enough men. There are three thousand men dead between the Boltons, Ryswells and Dustins. We have another twenty five hundred dead, and three thousand injured, although many will recover thanks to you and Talisa. " Robb said.

"So we really lost 3500 men. But if our wounded die or are slow to heal, that could be another thousand." Jon thought for a moment. They only had ten thousand healthy men. "What is your goal? Do you want to destroy the Lannisters? To take King's Landing?"

"Can we take King's Landing?" Robb asked with surprise.

"Yes, but we would have to be ruthless. Tywin Lannister burned the Riverlands. Do you wish to do the same to the Crownlands?" Jon said.

"March south? How would you attack? Do you mean to follow Karstark in hunting Clegane?" Robb said.

"Karstark is a fool. You don't chase a mad dog. You force it to come out into the open. There are four roads into King's Landing. The kingsroad, the Rosby road, the gold road and the rose road. The Tyrells and the Lannisters have failed against our army in the field - they will hide behind their walls. That means we can sack all the holdfasts and settlements nearby and deny them food. Burn the barley and wheat fields near Rosby and Stokeworth. Close the kingsroad. Control the Blackwater Rush near the goldroad. As for the rose road, the strength of the Reach is dead, captured, or at King's Landing. Highgarden will not resist us." Jon said.

"Starving a city will take a long time." Robb said.

"The long game wins. Lord Karstark would rather rush and storm the walls of King's Landing. Fighting with anger is foolish, and gets men killed." Jon said.

"You are angry at Jory's death." Robb said.

"I am more than angry. Jory should have never died. I should have fallen at the God's Eye, not her. I will mourn her later but our enemies will pay for her death now. And the siege may not take as long as you believe. King's Landing has five hundred thousand people but only one source of clean water, the Blackwater Rush." Jon said.

"Poison the river? Is that even possible for the Blackwater?" Robb asked in surprise.

"No need. During the reign of Jaehaerys the Wise, Septon Barth dug wells outside the city to tap the riverbed. They built pipes and tunnels that carry fresh water into the city, and cisterns that feed the fountains and squares of King's Landing. We destroy the pipes, empty the cisterns and bury the tunnels. Without water, the city will fall."

"So you mean to cut off food and water. Tens of thousands will die. And Sansa is in King's Landing. If the city has no food or water.." Robb said.

"Sana will not die of thirst or hunger. Neither will Tywin Lannister or Mace Tyrell. The soldiers will suffer before the highborn, and the smallfolk before the soldiers. Their army will be forced to leave the keep and walls and face us in the open. Their men will be tired, hungry and thirsty. They will die like flies." Jon said.

"I do not know if I can go down this road. It is dark and bloody. Thousands and thousands will die. And Sansa's life hangs in the balance." Robb said.

"And how do you plan to get Sansa back?" Jon said pointedly. "Victories are good but winning at the God's Eye is not enough. The war ends when we raze Kings Landing. The best way is not to attack the gates, but to choke the city into submission. Tywin Lannister raped, pillaged and reaved the Riverlands. The siege of King's Landing is but a shadow of that."

"But that was Tywin Lannister, not our father." Robb said.

Not my father, Jon thought. My father died at the Trident. "Robert Baratheon's war ended with a sack of King's Landing. There was no honor there. This war could also end that way. And the Iron Throne, or whoever sits on that chair, will not trouble the Starks again."

* * *

When Arya emerged from the tent, the sun was already high in the sky. She had slept late last night, only leaving the medical tent when she was too exhausted to stay awake. Nymeria ambled over to her side, as tall and fierce as Grey Wind and Ghost. Arya's stomach growled.

A large field kitchen was set up under a canopy near the lake. Arya breathed in deeply, smelling bread, fried bacon, and newly caught fish, roasted over a fire pit. The bread wasn't dry hardtack but rather freshly baked loaves. Soldiers and villagers unloaded ships, and sacks of potatoes, onions, and turnips were carried to the ovens.

A shy village girl handed her a warm mug with tea and milk. Arya took bread off a large clay pot. It was delicious with a hint of fruit and reminded her of Hot Pie's cooking.

"It tastes better with soft butter." Hot Pie grinned, holding out a tray of dire wolf shaped bread.

"Hot Pie. How did you get here?" Arya asked her friend. Behind him, Gendry ate a biscuit stuffed with bacon. Nymeria sniffed at the tray, then turned her head and snorted.

"After the battle, they sent a raven to Harrenhal. We loaded supplies and waited for the ships to come to Harroway. I sailed last night, and landed at dawn." Hot Pie said.

"Hot Pie has something to say." Gendry said. He looked like he had strained his face, thinking. The fat boy looked sheepishly down at the ground. "Arry, your brother Jon - he is a wizard."

"A what?" Arya said.

"A wizard. A sorcerer. A master of the dark arts." Hot Pie looked around nervously.

"That's ridiculous. Jon is a maester, not a magician." Arya scoffed.

"Arry, that's what they say on the ships. The sailors and the captain." Hot Pie said.

"I spoke to the men who sailed on the lake. They have never seen anything like that. A huge storm blew on the lake. Waves twenty feet high. Air as cold as ice." Gendry said.

"So what? A bit of bad weather doesn't prove anything." she snapped.

"Arya, a devil wind blew in the battle. There was no wind in the morning. I asked the Manderly captain. No wind like that ever blows on a river or a lake. Even on the Shivering Seas, he has never seen a storm that bad. And the wind blew dust and dirt into the enemy. Your brother summoned the storm." Gendry said.

Arya bit her lip. She remembered the sky turning the color of ash, Jon's cry for dust, and the Mormonts pounding their spears into the ground. She did not care what her brother had done. Jon had always defended her and she would never question his actions.

"Don't tell him I said nothing." Hot Pie said. "I don't want to be sacrificed and eaten by a demon."

Arya rolled her eyes. "If my brother was a wizard, he would already know. And he would be plotting revenge against people spreading lies." Hot Pie looked about to piss his breeches.

"It is not a lie." Gendry said. "The story will spread. People already whisper about him."

"Jon doesn't dabble in dark magic. He only means harm to enemies of the North." Arya said.

"Your brother frightens me. He frightens everyone." Gendry said to Hot Pie's vigorous nods.

"Good. They should be afraid. The Lannisters. The Tyrells. My brother is a wolf and he will kill anyone who threatens us." Arya snapped.

* * *

They dragged Bolton by a rope. The Leech Lord crawled, crippled legs incapable of walking. The Reach Lords and Ser Addam Marbrand followed. Robb Stark sat on top of a raised platform but all the eyes of the army were on Jon Snow. Large wooden stakes had been hammered into the dirt with the crossbar tall enough to hang a man.

Heartsbane rested on Jon's knees. He put the naked blade to the side when the prisoners squatted, hands bound, before the wooden dais. Roose Bolton was forced forward on bloody knees. The Northern Lords attended, and many of the Rivermen and Valemen. Septons and smallfolk snooped from far away and the soldiers in the camp, even the wounded, went silent.

"Any last words, Lord Bolton? Do you want to confess to your betrayal?" Jon said.

"Why should I? I am going to die here. Unless you allow me to take the Black, I have nothing to say." Bolton said.

"The Wall is too good for you. Traitors to the North deserve death." Jon turned to Randyll Tarly. "Bring him up."

Two boys escorted Tarly to the stage. The Lord of Horn Hill stared at Jon, beady eyes in the hard face. If looks could kill, Jon might have cared about Tarly's enmity.

"Lord Tarly, will you confess to the treachery? And how you plotted with Bolton?" Jon said.

"I am no traitor, Snow. If you cannot keep your lords loyal, that is your problem. Tywin Lannister told me that House Bolton bore no love for the wolves. Take up your complaints with the lions." Tarly said.

"We shall. But for you and your men, Lord Stark wants you to bend the knee. House Tarly will withdraw from any conflict from the North. You shall remain our prisoner. Your life is forfeit if any man from Horn Hill joins the Tyrell army. When our conflict with the Throne ends, we will consider your release." Jon said.

Randyll Tarly spat on the ground. "And what will you do bastard? I serve Highgarden, not the North. And Highgarden is loyal to the Iron Throne."

"We can kill you. Yield and House Tarly may live." Robb said.

"I lead Mace Tyrell's van before you and your bastard brother were born. Other people may care about such threats. I grew up as a soldier. I am not afraid to die with honor." Tarly said.

"Very well. You will not die, Tarly, but you will see your men die. We'll hang them all. But first, bring out your sons." Jon said. Two boys were dragged forward, one very fat, and the other quite young, and only a squire. "Nail them to the stake. Vargo Hoat died quickly but he was tortured first. Your sons may survive for days."

The fat boy blubbered as the Smalljon grabbed him by the neck. Dacey and her sister took the other one, and began to tie his arms to the cross.

"You would kill children?" Tarly shouted.

"Children who fight in war can die in war. Where is Horn Hill?" Jon asked aloud.

"A hundred miles south of Highgarden. In the foothills of the Red Mountains." the older Tarly boy answered.

"I will take our men down the Rose Road. We will raid your lands, and stack the skulls of your men higher than your lord's chair. They say you have a wife and daughters. Perhaps you will be alive when they die. I will burn Horn Hill - your castle, your lands, and your followers. I won't just end your line - I will erase any trace." Jon said.

Chett handed him a hammer and half a dozen iron spikes. He examined the nails, picked three, and walked over to the stakes. Jon placed the spike on the younger boy's right hand, and prepared his swing. "Stop, stop." Tarly cried. "You win, bastard."

"You and your sons will remain our prisoners. You will write a letter to Horn Hill telling your remaining men to withdraw. This is what will happen if any Tarly soldiers fight against the North." Jon slammed Tarly's right arm down on the platform. Chett and another boy held down the arm. Jon drew Heartsbane and with one strike, severed the right hand.

Randyll Tarly screamed in shock as he saw the bloody hand flop on the grass. Chett rushed to get a brass tourniquet wrapped around the arm.

"You should have taken the first offer." Jon said. He turned to the other Lords. "Bend the knee now. I will not ask again. None of our prisoners will raise their arms against House Stark again. I do not care if that means they are dead, blind or crippled. If they do fight against the North, I will cut off your hands. Tell that to your wives and heirs. Tell that to your castellans and knights. We will send ravens to the Reach. The Tyrells will know that they stand alone."

"And you will spare our men if we bend the knee?" Ser Baelor Hightower said.

"Perhaps. But I will kill them all if you do not." Jon said.

As Ser Baelor and the others began to kneel, the other Winter Town boys piled up straw and wood near a stake. The now released Tarly boys quickly dropped to their knees. Chett poured black tar pitch on the kindling.

"Not too much." Jon said. He dragged Bolton by the leash to the stake. He wrapped rope around the legs. The arms were still bound together, so he did not look like the Bolton sigil.

"I thought Starks beheaded their enemies." Bolton said.

"I am not a Stark." Jon said. He finished with the ropes, and spread out the straw and wood, so it was under Bolton's feet.

"Tywin Lannister will murder you, Snow. He will kill your dire wolves and skin them for a cloak. I am not the only one who will break faith with House Stark." he said.

"Who are the others?" Jon asked.

"I will not tell you. One day, the knives will come for House Stark. The lions will hunt you down. You and all your kin." Bolton said.

"They can try. But your line ends today." Jon threw a torch and pitch soaked kindling set on fire. Bolton's silent smirk turned into screams of agony, as he was roasted alive, and men covered their faces to avoid the smell of burnt flesh. It took a long time for Bolton to die.

* * *

Margaery Tyrell missed the long walks in the groves, fountains and courtyards of Highgarden. When she was younger, she imagined that the Red Keep would be like her ancestral home, rings of white stone filled with flowers and statues, stables for fine horses and fields of golden roses. She enjoyed exploring the briar labyrinth with her cousins, Megga, Alla and Elinor. She ignored the tray of sweetcorn fritters and cup of hippocras to look at the city through the stained glass of the Maidenvault.

"Don't open the window." Olenna called. "We don't need the smell of shit."

Her grandmother was right. King's Landing reeked like a whore, and not a courtesan who was perfumed with lavender and rosewater. What happened to old whores? Did they settle down with a smallfolk, and raise a passel of brats? For every pot, there must be a lid.

"Have any ravens arrived from the Riverlands?" Elinor called. Her favorite cousin was betrothed to Alyn Ambrose, a squire for her brother Ser Garlan. Alyn swore to wear Elinor's favor in battle versus the Northmen, and promised to marry when he received his knighthood.

"Garlan has not written." Lady Leonette said, fingering the goldenwood harp that her husband gave her for her name day.

"Perhaps he means to ride from the victory and surprise you. I hear that men enjoy a good bedding after a fight." Megga cried.

"Then my grandson would be the biggest idiot in the Reach. After battle, he should send a raven to let us know that he is alive and well. And the Northern army is two hundred miles from here. He would have to ride for days." Olenna said.

A page rushed into the room, wearing a bright red apple. "My lady, a message from Ser Steffon." the boy said.

Ser Steffon was the Fossoway castellan. Two of his sons were fighting in the Riverlands. The ladies looked on curiously as Leonette opened the letter. Her good sister turned pale with shock and dropped the note on the table.

"What is the matter?" Lady Alerie cried.

"Lord Jon was captured. Steffon was ordered to keep the men at arms home, else Ser Bryan, Ser Edwyd, Ser Tanton, and Lord Fossoway will all be murdered." Leonette said.

Margaery took the note and read. "The White Wolf vows to cut off their hands if any man of Cider Hall fights against House Stark again. He may even burn them alive."

"Burn people alive? Does this Snow think he is another Aerys the Mad?" Lady Olenna asked, pushing away the silver plate of soft white cheese. She reached for the note.

Lomys, the old stoop backed maester from Highgarden, hobbled in the room. In his hand, there were a dozen letters. "Lady Olenna, the ravens arrived just now. They are all from the Reach."

"From which houses?" Margaery asked.

"Tarly, Hightower, Crane, Ashford, Merryweather, Oakheart, and many others."

"Are there any from Highgarden?" Olenna said.

"None, my lady." Lomys answered.

Her grandmother took the letters in her thin spotted fingers. Her gaunt hands did not shake. "Summon Loras and Mace." Olenna said. The Maester and the Fossoway page rushed to obey. Margaery sat next to her, and broke the seals. The other ladies gave them space, waiting for any tidbits of news. The Queen of Thorns would have the first taste, then Margaery, and finally the lesser Tyrells and other wives. Margaery patted Cousin Elinor gently on the elbow.

Every letter said the same. The captains of the Reach had been captured in battle. Longtable, Bitterbridge, New Barrel, Ashford, Old Oak, Honeyholt, Badallon, the Three Towers - the list of names went on and on. The principal vassals of House Tyrell had been rendered useless - hors de combat for any conflict in the Riverlands.

"Lady Melessa wrote the most complete note. She received two letters from the Riverlands - from her husband and her son, Samwell. Jon Snow chopped Randyll's hand off - for insolence. And Sam adds that the bloody wolf burnt Roose Bolton on a stake." Olenna said.

"But House Bolton is pledged to House Stark!" Leonette said.

"Not any more." Olenna said. "The warnings vary. Hands chopped off, eyes gouged out, burnt at the stake, crippled in both legs. Jon Snow is quite creative in threats to our bannermen."

"This Snow is a beast in human skin." Alerie declared.

"Is there any news of Ser Garlan?" Elinor said. Margaery knew that the girl wanted any hint to her fate of Alyn Ambrose, her betrothed.

"If Garlan was captured, he would have sent a raven to Highgarden or to King's Landing. My brother may have escaped with his men and his squire Alyn." Margaery said.

"Or he is dead. The wolves may have butchered Garlan and any Tyrell men they found." Olenna said brusquely. "Oh, don't chide me, Alerie. False hope will not help anyone. Many lords have been captured but I doubt the Starks do so out of kindness. This stinks of the Golden Tooth. He has forced the Reachmen to submit with vile threats and cruel deeds."

"How could Lord Tarly lose? He had greater numbers and the pride of the Reach." Alerie said. "Mace was certain of victory. Today, he planned to take delivery of a chair as Hand of the King."

"I hope the craftsman made it large enough for his fat arse, and even fatter head." Olenna said.

"Perhaps…" Elinor said hesitantly. "Perhaps, these letters are false. A clever plot to weaken our resolve. Snow is a sorcerer and a trickster. Could this be treachery somehow?"

"The messages were sealed with their sigils. Lady Tarly and the others may have been sent false missives. But how would Snow know these names of the knights and lords? And why would he threaten to kill men who were not his prisoners?" Olenna said. "No, we must treat the ravens as real. If this is some twisted jape, the Tyrell army will still be standing."

Loras rushed in, worry on his beautiful face. That concern only increased at the sight of his despondent goodsister, Lady Leonette. "Grandmother, sister - what has happened?"

"Lord Tarly was beaten in the Riverlands. Thousands of men have been captured, including Ser Baelor, Jon Fossoway, Randyll Tarly, Owen Merryweather and many more." Olenna said.

"But… but - how is that possible? And what of my brother?" Loras asked, half panicked.

"We don't know. And it is no use wasting time over things we do not know." Olenna said. "Who do we trust the most at King's Landing?"

"Uhh… No one, grandmother. King's Landing is full of liars." Loras said.

The Queen of Thorns gave Loras a withering stare. "Who of our men do we trust? We have ten thousand at King's Landing. Surely, one of them can carry a message."

"Ser Gunthor Hightower. He is the third son of Lord Leyton, and wedded to Jon Fossoway's niece. He studied at the Citadel so he would know how to send a raven without the aid of a maester." Margaery said.

"Good. Loras, have Ser Gunthor ride south. When he is out of this shithole, send a raven to Willas with news of the battle in the Riverlands. He should then take a ship at Tumbleton and sail down the Mander to Highgarden. Then he can deliver the news in person and make certain Willas prepares the castle for any attack." Olenna said.

"Highgarden is seven hundred miles away. Surely the Starks will not attack." Loras said.

"Bitterbridge, Longtable, and Cider Hall lie between the Riverlands and Highgarden. And all three lords are captives. Do you think our bannermen will stop them on the rose road? I do not want my home sacked and pillaged by a horde of Northmen." Olenna said.

"Grandmother, we need to approach the Starks. We need to ransom the prisoners." Margaery said. "We have duties to our bannermen."

"Margaery, you are not thinking of going North. They might capture you, and hold you for ransom." an alarmed Loras said.

"No, Loras, I did not mean myself. What about Owen Fossoway? He is friends with Snow. His father was captured. House Fossoway has many ties to our family." Margaery said.

"Yes, he would do well. Find Owen. Tell him we will offer a ransom for our men. As a friend to Snow, he would be treated well at their camp. He would make a good spy." Olenna said.

"But will he spy on the North or will he betray our plans to them?" Loras said.

"What plans? We are sitting on our arses, doing nothing." Olenna said.

"Even if Owen is loyal to Snow, he will tell us of the size of their army, and the state of their prisoners. We know very little now. Better to hear a tale from Owen's eyes than rumors, falsehoods and traveller's tales." Margaery said.

"If these Northmen killed Garlan, I will avenge my brother." Loras said.

"Don't be an idiot. We lost one army in the Riverlands. We don't need to lose another. Rushing to fight the Starks is a fool's game." Olenna said. "And speaking of fools…."

Mace Tyrell waddled into the room, a jovial smile on his plump ruddy face. "Hello, Mother. What did I miss?" He stuffed a lemon cake into his mouth.

* * *

The feast was unworthy of a lord of Dorne, particularly one just returned after so many years. The Martells had sent ravens but many bannermen did not come, despite the news of Lorch's capture. Starfall was almost a thousand miles away, and the Wyls, Manwoodys and Yronwoods were busy guarding the Prince's Pass and the Boneway. Any army that marched to the Reach or the Stormlands would have to pass the Red Mountains through these two routes.

The new lord of Starfall did not take offense, not even when a raven arrived, bearing his aunt Allyria's regrets. Edric was a kind soul, without the martial spirit of his uncle, Arthur. In training, his old friend wielding the greatsword Dawn could not be beaten. One day, Edric might be a knight but Oberyn doubted the boy would be the next Sword of the Morning. The older Fowler girl sat to the left of Lord Dayne and the younger Fowler girl at his right. The Fowlers was several name days older, but the sisters were hawks, eager to swoop on any suitable man or boy, judging from the blush on Edric's face. None of the Sand Snakes, not even the younger ones, bothered with Edric. His girls scorned anyone who did not fight. They preferred to flirt with the Foresters, and hear more tales about the wolves in battle. Elia and Obella even spoke to Ser Emmon, and the Reachman wore armor decorated with sunflowers. The Dornish bowed to the sun, not silly yellow flowers.

Oberyn greeted his old squire, Daemon Sand. Daemon's grandmother, the Lady of Godsgrace, whispered to Lord Harmon Uller and his brother Ser Ulwyck. The lords of House Gargalen and Dalt scowled at Myrcella Baratheon, but Sarella spoke kindly to Trystane and his princess. His most sensible daughter recounted a few amusing tales of foolish maesters at the Citadel.

Serving men filled the cups of Dornish strongwine, dark and sweet, and ladled a delicate soup of eggs and lemons into bowls. Oberyn ate and drank very little. He was happy with simple food - flatbread, chickpeas, olives and white cheese. He did not want sweet pies of suckerfish and lampreys, capons glazed in honey and almond milk, or savory snake stew. Fighting and fucking pleased him far more than eating and drinking.

A tall, fierce girl with blazing red hair approached his seat. Areo Hotah stepped forward, the great long axe ready to guard Doran. Oberyn needed no protection.

"Valena." Arianne said. His niece stood up to embrace her friend.

The girl curtsied with a boldness fitting of the Dornish. "Prince Doran, my mother, Lady Nymella could not come. But I brought someone who would see you."

"My lady, I am not certain this is wise." An old man with links on his collar said.

Valena quieted the maester with a glance. She gently led a girl forward. She was short, plump and shy with the red hair of the Tolands of Ghost Hill. "This is my younger sister, Teora."

"My prince, her humors are unbalanced. She has too much bile from eating rich foods. She needs to purge herself of her excesses and stop with this nonsense." the Maester said.

The pudgy girl balled up her hands. "I hate you." she declared.

Sarella approached. "Archmaester Ebrose believes the four humors are a load of codswallop. He has studied the heart and lungs to see how blood circulates around the body."

"Vile sorcery." The maester sneered. "Does Ebrose still rob graves?"

"The Archmaester experiments on snakes, fish, and small animals." Sarella said coldly.

Teora looked up from her feet. "I have seen things." Her pale face met the gaze of Oberyn, Doran and Arianne. She no longer looked like an inadequate child of a powerful family. "I have seen them - fire made flesh, flying high above the skies."

"What do you see?" Oberyn asked.

"Dragons." Teora said. "Three dragons. The first is black and silver, pretty but held on strings and sticks. The second is silver and gold, born again in blood and fire. But it is the third dragon that is the greatest - black and red. Scarlet wings and blood red eyes. A dragon whose breath can melt steel and stone, and fuse sand into glass."

"The last dragon was the last dragon. That is known." Alleras said.

"Sailors tell stories that Daenerys Targaryen has birthed three dragons." Oberyn said. "But we do not know the truth of it. And any dragons born to her would be young - easy to kill with a scorpion, catapult, or even a spear."

"I saw the dragons dance. All three of them. And everywhere the dragons danced, people died." Teora said.

"The Dance happened when dragon riders fought each other in the air. Daenerys Targaryen may have three dragons but they are far too small to ride." Doran said.

"We are House Martell. Even dragons must bow to the sun." Oberyn said.

Teora shook her head. "The last dragon will blot out the sun. Death comes in his wake." The pudgy girl began to cry and Valena wrapped her arms about her sister and led her away.

* * *

Oberyn was not the only one who saw the message slipped in Doran's hand during the feast. Ellaria, Arianne and the Sand Snakes did as well. Maester Myles might be an expert healer and a capable tutor but he lacked any skill at deception. Oberyn was not surprised that his brother requested his presence that night. He did not expect Edric to attend, and with the shy boy, came Arianne and her cousins. Ellaria had at least forced his younger daughters to bed.

Doran dismissed the young maester. A large raven sat on the golden wood table, peering at the Martell family with beady suspicious eyes. Doran patiently extended his hand and the bird gave up the message.

"Edric, this raven came for you this evening." Doran said.

"But my Aunt already wrote that she could not come." Edric said.

"The sigil is not the sword and star of House Dayne. It is a white wolf on gray." Doran handed the letter to the boy.

Edric took the letter and broke the seal. Arianne inched closer and the Sand Snakes stared at the young Lord Dayne. The boy was certainly taking his sweet time to read a short note.

"What does the letter say!" Obara demanded, her hand on a whip.

Edric looked up, a smile on his good natured face. "The Starks defeated the Reach at the God's Eye. Jon writes that they killed fifteen thousand and captured another fifteen thousand, including Lord Tarly, Lord Fossoway, Lord Merryweather, Ser Baelor Hightower, and many others. He asks when I will return North with the Dornish."

"But they are just young boys. How could they win so great a victory?" a stunned Arianne said.

"Wolves are good at fighting. Roses are not." Sarella said.

"With so many captured, the Reach is weak. And many of their strongest lords are prisoners or at King's Landing." Nymeria Sand asked.

"Father, we can attack now. Send Fowler men through the Prince's Pass and the Yronwoods over Boneway. We can teach the Reach and the Stormlands to fear our spears."Arianne said.

"We are not Ironborn raiders. Our feud is not with Highgarden or Storm's End." Doran said.

"And why not? The Reach stands behind the Iron Throne. The Tyrells have married their rose to the lions. And the Stormlanders killed our men in the rebellion. The time has come to get revenge for Dornish blood." Arianne said.

"Edric, what did Robb Stark and Jon Snow ask for?" Doran said patiently.

"Dornish swords and spears to fight the Lannisters." Edric said.

"The Lannisters." Doran repeated. "Not the Tyrells. Not Horn Hill or Oldtown. And if we march North over the Boneway, our men would pass four hundred miles before King's Landing. The stormlords are not likely to grant safe passage through their lands."

"Who cares about the stormlanders? Two stags are dead and the other is a kinslayer. The Stormlords will hide in their castles, just like you do." Arianne said.

"You will care, cousin, when they bleed our men. An enemy army in Dorne would get no peace. Why would it be different in any of the other kingdoms?" Sarella said.

"We have no alliance with the North. Before I sent ten thousand men to die in the riverlands, we must understand the Stark's plan. Will they attack King's Landing? Will they sack the Reach or the Crownlands? Will they ally with Stannis Baratheon?" Doran said.

"Our men will not die. They fight for the glory of Dorne." Obara said.

"They will fight and they will die. In war, men on both sides die, and there is little glory in skulls and bones." Doran said.

"By the time you understand these things, the war will be over. Either King's Landing will fall or the wolves will be beaten." Arianne said.

"We should send men north. But there may be another way that doesn't cost much Dornish blood." Sarella said. "The North may need spears and swords, but they also need information. If the Starks know the Lannister plans, Lord Tywin has no chance in an even battle. If the wolves could get enough men through the walls, no city will resist them."

"You want us to be spies, and open the city to another sack. That will not be easy. The fat flower and the old lion will not trust us. And the spider will watch with his little birds. A raven cannot fly from Sunspear without our knowledge. It will be no different in King's Landing." Oberyn said.

"No one said it would be easy, father. You have waited sixteen years for vengeance. Why not go to King's Landing and send a message to the Starks? If we betray Lord Tywin's location on the battlefield, Jon Snow will kill the old Lion." Sarella said.

"I would rather kill him myself." Oberyn said sourly. "You will come with me to King's Landing. And Ellaria as well, but her children will stay behind in the Water Gardens. The Iron Throne promised Dorne a position on the Small Council.

"We will come too, father." Tyene said. "Revenge, intrigue, and danger - we could hardly let Sarella go alone." Obara and Nymeria nodded in agreement.

"You are not going." Doran said to a disappointed Arianne. "Bad enough your cousins risk their lives in the snake pit. I will encamp a Dornish host at Yronwood, ready to cross into the Stormlands on my signal. And Edric, give a message to this Snow. If he can deliver Tywin Lannister and Gregor Clegane to Dorne, we would be most grateful."

"What of Trystane and his little lioness?" Oberyn asked.

"Myrcella is not to be harmed. Even if the Iron Throne falls, House Martell will honor the betrothal." Doran said.

"She is a bastard of the Kingslayer and the queen. If the Lannisters have no claim to the throne, what can she offer? A Dornishmen will never rule Casterly Rock." Nymeria said.

"She is my ward. I will not see her harmed." Doran said.

"A ward is a hostage. If her family dies, a hostage is not needed." Nym said.

"We are not Lannisters. We do not kill little girls in Dorne." Oberyn said.

"She will not be little forever." Tyene said sweetly.

* * *

"Milady, milady." The serving girl cried as she ran. In her flight, the young village lass still carried a woven basket of clothes, freshly washed in the lake. Arya refrained from correcting the girl. Every smallfolk - boy or girl, man or matron - bowed and scraped before her, and called her milady. At Winterfell, she had been Arya Underfoot, more interested in riding and exploring. But at the God's Eye, she was the White Wolf's heir. The Rivermen and the Vale knights deferred to her, and the prisoners from the Reach gave her a wide berth. They were afraid.

"Milady Stark." The girl nearly fell as she curtsied. At least, she didn't kneel, Arya thought. "Me and Shyra saw riders, coming up from the lake, waving a white flag."

A white flag meant a request for negotiation. "How many? And what were they wearing?"

The girl held out six fingers. "The one in front was in brown and red. The others wore mail, but carried no weapons. At least not that we could see."

"Thank you, Bandy. I will go see them." She stepped past chained men carrying water for the horses. They lowered their eyes and murmured. The Manderly overseers nodded respectfully and other soldiers began to draw swords and spears as the strangers came into view.

The leader was a broad shouldered, brown haired and square faced man with a red apple on his plain doublet. He was older than her brothers, but not by much. He gave a short whistle and all six horses stopped. They dismounted, and Arya could see that the hilts of their swords were tied to the sheathes, making it difficult to draw. The three in the rear carried unstrung bows and arrows in the quiver were also tied together.

"Lady Stark?" The brown haired man bowed low.

"How do you know who I am?" Arya asked suspiciously. Northern knights and Stark guards stood behind her. Nymeria bared her teeth in a silent growl.

"You have a dire wolf. Just as large as the two I saw at Riverrun. My name is Owen Fossoway. I was a friend of your brother at the Citadel." the man said.

"This isn't the Citadel, boy." A tall Northmen yelled. Arya wasn't certain if it was Robett or Galbart Glover.

"But I am still Jon Snow's friend." Owen said. "I am here to see your brother, Jon, and to ask about the Reachmen that you captured. You hold my father, my cousins and many of my friends." he said.

"This could be a trick…." Glover said.

"I will show you the way." Arya handed the Reach man a small bottle. "Peppermint oil. You will need it for your nose."

* * *

They walked west to the battleground. Several days later, traces of the battle littered the field- broken arrows, shivered spears, chipped swords, crushed armor and dried blood. Even with peppermint, Arya gagged from the overpowering and oppressive stench. Men worked hard to bury the dead. Deep trenches had been dug, and unknown bodies were placed there. Rows of graves had been constructed for the highborn, and Jon ordered a cemetery erected, with the names and houses be preserved for the honorable dead. It was difficult, back breaking work but the prisoners did not complain. They feared being burnt alive.

The dead Boltons filled a nameless grave with Roose's blackened body on top. Lord Bolton's screams in death stunned the prisoners, and the Vale and Rivermen turned away from the burning. Robb defended their brother wholeheartedly. He had told the septons that they could chant prayers and recite hymns but no one would mourn the traitor Bolton. And no one did.

Piles of dry straw, kindling, wood and pitch had been gathered on mounds of earth. Dozens of crude coffins were piled, and the Silent Sisters had washed and cleaned many bodies. She found Ghost and her brother standing over Jorelle Mormont lying in full plate mail, with shield and morning star over her chest. Jon knelt and placed the bascinet above Jory's head.

"Lord Snow." Owen said.

Jon stood up. "Owen Fossoway. I am surprised to see you."

"I came to ransom my father and any other Fossoways." Owen said.

"I am not surprised that you are here, but that you came so quickly. The raven flew to Cider Hall four days ago. You could not have travelled from Cider Hall." Jon said.

"I didn't." Owen said.

"Then who ordered you to come? Ser Garlan?" Jon said.

"Ser Garlan is alive then. I am glad." Owen said.

Jon chuckled. "It is a wonder you did not cross paths. Ser Garlan fled the battle with the Mountain. We do not know if they went south or east into the crownlands."

"Jon, I ask for mercy for my family and countrymen." Owen said.

"What would the Reach have done if we lost? Lord Tarly does not seem like a merciful man." Jon gestured to the bodies of the Mormonts soldiers. Many were placed on the central mound. "His charge at the end of the battle cost many lives."

"You told me that holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal. When you throw it at someone, you are the one who gets burned." Owen said.

"I would not be burnt. I would use a catapult." Jon said. "If you wish mercy, tell the truth. You were sent, if not by Garlan, then another Tyrell. But if you are honest, then I shall be fair. Arya. find Robb. He will wish to hear."

Arya sat down with Robb, and waited for Owen to speak. Freshly woven mats of sweet smelling rushes were placed on the grass for the Starks and their guest. The Reachman finished a swig from a wineskin that Jon had offered.

"Three days ago, the captain of the guards delivered a sealed letter to me at Tumbler's Falls. It was signed by Mace Tyrell but I am certain the message comes from Lady Olenna. The Tyrells want no further conflict with the North. They ask that prisoners be released. Highgarden and the Reach will pay a ransom." Owen said.

"Are the Tyrells going to break with the Lannisters?" Arya said.

"I don't know. News of the battle has not reached Tumbler's Fall." Owen said to her surprise.

"Arya, it takes several days to ride from here to King's Landing. The Tyrells only know because of the ravens we sent to the Reach." Jon said.

"Why should we help the Tyrells?" Robb said. "They are keeping Joffrey on the Iron Throne."

"Lady Margaery is still to be queen. The Tyrells will have a great deal of power in King's Landing. Two of their bannermen are already on the Small Council. The North is not the only one who remembers. The Reach will not forget your victory or your mercy." Owen said.

Her brothers looked at each other. A year ago at Winterfell, Robb had been just her big brother, quick with a smile and happy to spar in the yard. Jon had been her other big brother, a fond memory exiled to Oldtown, whose letters never failed to bring cheer. All the softness was gone and they were hard and lean. Like wolves, Arya thought. She wanted to be a wolf too.

"I want my sister back. What can the Tyrells do to return her?" Robb said.

"I do not speak for Highgarden but I do not think the rest of the Tyrell forces will be eager for battle, Lord Stark. They certainly would trade Lady Sansa for peace. Perhaps…" Owen said.

Jon snorted. "Actions matter, Owen. Not words. And these words are as empty as Lazy Leo's head. If the Northern army appeared before the gates of King's Landing, would the Tyrells surrender the city? Or would their men attack from the walls?"

"I am a messenger, not a general. If I was Lord of Highgarden, we would be sipping wine and eating fireplums. I always hoped you could come to Cider Hall, marry a cousin, and stay in the Reach. I told the Tyrells they should offer you a bride." Owen said.

"A bride? Among the Fossoways? I will try not to kill any of my good brothers." Jon smiled. "Owen, how close are the families of the Reach?"

"Very close. My father married Mace Tyrell's sister, so Ser Garlan and Lady Margaery are my cousins. And Lady Olenna was a Redwyne. Lord Leyton Hightower had ten children, and most are married in the Reach. My sisters and brothers married into House Tyrell, Hightower, Crane, Oakheart, Rowan, and Redwyne." Owen said.

"You have large families." Robb said.

"It is the Reach, my lord. It is a very fertile land." Owen said.

"We will show mercy but your lords will remain hostages." Robb said. "Tell the Tyrells that the North demands the return of Sansa Stark."

"What are you offering for the other prisoners?" Jon said.

"Gold for their return South. They will not fight against you again." Owen said.

"Twenty dragons for every man at arms. Forty for squires and crossbowmen. And sixty for knights." Jon said.

Owen gulped. "A high price. How many Fossoways were captured?".

Jon shook his head. "The price is for all of them. Fifteen thousand men."

"Fifteen thousand?" Owen squawked. "We will not pay for the Westermen."

"We took only a few hundred Lannister prisoners in the battle. Most died when they charged the shieldwall with Tarly." Jon said.

"Fifteen thousand prisoners - that is a great deal of gold. I am not certain how long it will take the Reach to raise such sum." Owen said.

"As you say, the Reach is a very fertile land. There is a price to be paid for helping our enemies. But your men will be safe." Jon said.

"And there will be no executions of our commanders? You will treat my father and our lords and knights fairly?" Owen said.

"So long as the prisoners do not take up arms again. They will never fight the North. If they keep those vows, the highborn will not be harmed." Jon said.

"That is quite fair." Owen hesitated. "Jon, what of their swords and horses. Many of the men are farmers, smallfolk or castle guards. With their mounts, they could return home more quickly."

"You want us to return your horses?" Robb asked in surprise.

"They are not much use to us." Jon said. "We are not Dothraki. We cannot feed ten thousand horses. The Reach promises that their men will ride south immediately without bloodshed?"

"After this battle, I doubt that any prisoner wants to continue fighting. These men will go south to Tumbleton and take the rose road home." Owen said.

Her brothers spoke quietly before coming to an agreement. "Very well, Owen. The prisoners will return home with their horses. They can take back arms and armor but must swear to only fight for self defense. We will give them a few days of rations for the trip home. But the Tyrells must swear to pay our ransom." Jon said.

"That is more than five hundred thousand dragons!" Arya said.

"Thank you, Jon. Your terms are more than fair. The Tyrells will be glad, well except for the gold dragons." Owen said.

"Highgarden is rich and the Tyrells will collect the gold from Cider Hall, Oldtown, Tumbleton, and many other bannermen." Jon smiled. "You will have to sell more apples and cider."

"I will send ravens to Highgarden, Tumbleton and King's Landing." Owen said.

"When we receive the letter from Lady Olenna or Lord Mace, we will release your men. I will also speak to my lords and Jon to the prisoners." Robb said.

"Yes, but first we have to say goodbye to our dead. You may attend." Jon said.

* * *

By sunset, news of the agreement with the Reach spread far and wide. Not the ransom, or Fossoway's role as a messenger but people knew though that the prisoners might soon be released, and returned their horses and arms. A palpable sigh of relief went through the camp. No one wanted to see more men burnt alive.

Arya stood with the Northmen, as Jon and Robb walked about the funeral pyres with torches. Owen sat with his father, and several Reach nobles. The Rivermen and the Vale knights also attended. The kindling and pitch caught fire quickly, and the coffins of the hallowed dead burned brightly on the biers. There were tears of farewell and salutes to the courage of the fallen. No house was praised more than the Mormonts. The flames rose high, and the wind blew from the lake. The fires were cleansing, and the smell of death dissipated into the night air.

"I thought we were taking the bones back to the North." Arya said.

"We are." Dacey replied. "Jory's bones will be collected into an urn. For the other Mormonts soldiers, Snow will raise a barrow on top of a hill, overlooking the lake, for their bones to rest. My sister died, but her name will not be forgotten. When men wonder who won this battle, they will know that it is the She-bears."

"I would rather Jory live than be remembered but no one can outrun their fate." Lyra said. "The Stranger comes for us all."

The flames finally died, and the army sat down for dinner. A rider came from the North - a burly knight on a brown destrier wearing the colors of House Tully. "My lord, my lord." The knight breathed heavily and as he took off the helmet to reveal a bald head, Arya could see the sweat pouring down his face. The old man looked as exhausted as his horse.

"Ser Robin, you left a week ago for Riverrun." the Blackfish said. "Why have you returned?"

"The Kingslayer is gone." Robin Ryger gasped.

"What? How did he escape?" Robb yelled.

"He did not escape. Lady Stark set him free." the knight answered before falling to his knees.

* * *

Tyrion ignored the pounding on his door. It was not yet noon, which meant he was far too sober to deal with fools and idiots. Word of the massacre sent the entire city into a panic. Smallfolk streamed out of the gates, hoping to find shelter in the kingswood, the vast primeval forest to the South. Crackpots and begging brothers gathered in the squares, wailing about how the North would butcher those who did not repent their sins. Tyrion doubted that Robb Stark or Jon Snow would give two shits about the rantings of the septons. If he was about to die, he would do so with a whore and a bottle of wine. He guzzled down a flagon of Arbor gold.

"Is that the Northern army at your door?" Bronn said, as he cleaned his nails with an ugly knife.

"I hope so. Then they can end my suffering." Tyrion kept his tone light. The last thing he wanted was the sellsword to desert. Japes were one way to keep the fear away. Wine was another. Drinking allowed him to stay sane. He and Varys had kept their wits at the Small Council meeting held in the Red Keep last night. The same could not be said for a flummoxed Mace Tyrell and the other Reachmen, his screaming sister, and a pathetic Pycelle. Baelish was away in the Vale, wooing Lysa Arryn.

"Open the door, Imp." Ser Meryn Trant loudly demanded.

Tyrion sighed and nodded. Two white cloaks stepped forth, flanked by his cousin, Lancel. Cersei had once jested that Jaime was the stupidest Lannister. Clearly she had not remembered their younger cousin.

Lancel flourished a scroll. "I bring orders from the King. He demands that Sansa Stark be handed over for punishment."

"Where is the Stark girl?" Trant said, sword in hand. Both Trant and Ser Boros Blount wore a set of gleaming plate armor and a crested T-shaped helmet.

"She is staying here." Bronn replied. In the blink of an eye, he drew a longsword and a dirk. The sellsword wore only black ringmail over leather but he relied on speed over sheer force.

"Call off your dog, Imp" Trant said. "It is treason to attack a kingsguard." Blount stepped to the side, in an obvious attempt to flank Bronn.

"Not treason for me." Sandor Clegane's two handed sword rested at the back of Blount's neck. A weaker man might be unable to push the tip through the mail coif hanging from the helmet. The Hound would have no such problems. Sansa Stark stood behind Clegane, wearing a purple dress and a gray hood that hid most of her thick auburn hair.

"Clegane, these are orders from the King." Trant said.

"Then he can come here himself." Clegane said. "The king ordered me to guard the girl so she comes to no harm. She won't be taken by three cocksuckers who can't swing a sword."

"King Joffrey will be greatly angered." Lancel managed to say.

"Joffrey is always angry. Northmen get angry as well. I hear they burn men alive, and cut off the hands of their prisoners." Tyrion said.

"King Joffrey will crush the traitors." Trant announced.

"He certainly hasn't done a good job of it so far." Tyrion snarked. "No doubt when the Starks see you lead our men at the walls, they will quake in their boots.

Lancel withdrew and the two white cloaks went with him. Bronn sat down and oiled his sword. The servants brought Sansa hot bread, butter and honey. A second plate was set out for Jeyne Poole but the timid girl refused to venture to the great hall.

Lady Sansa wrapped the food in a handkerchief. Clegane gobbled down bread and a hunk of cold chicken. "Lord Tyrion, is there any more news from the Riverlands?" the girl asked.

"The men return from the battle, but not many of them. The stories differ as to how many were butchered in battle versus taken prisoner." Tyrion said. He refrained from saying more. There was no need to spread the wilder tales of sorcery and torture. Others already had done that.

The girl kept her face impassive, smooth as steel. She left, the Hound trailing in her wake. Bronn stood guard over her door. Neither the Hound nor the sellsword had no intention of leaving the Stark girl.

* * *

Tyrion entered the council chamber of Maegor's Holdfast. Bronn's spies informed him that his father had returned last night to King's Landing. He was surprised that Tywin waited until the afternoon to summon him. His father was not a patient man in the best of times.

"Tyrion." Tywin sat behind a long table, with quill and parchment. Several letters were already written, waiting to be dispatched by messenger or raven.

"Father." Tyrion set down the chain of linked golden hands on the wood. Tywin ignored him and continued to write. "Are you so pleased with my work that I am to remain the Hand? You can return to Casterly Rock while I rule the Seven Kingdoms."

Tywin gave him a familiar glare. "If I wanted a fool in motley, I would have summoned one."

"Well, perhaps Lancel would do. We do have other cousins and uncles, but the Starks enjoy their company too much to release them." Tyrion said.

"Varys has told me of the events of this morning. Lancel and Joffrey are both fools." His father handed over a letter written in a graceful, feminine hand.

Tyrion read the words with shock, his mind reeling with the implications. "Catelyn Stark has agreed to free Jaime. But….. Why?"

"I have promised through Baelish that Sansa Stark is not to be harmed." Tywin said.

"This letter was written before the Battle of the God's Eye." Tyrion realized.

"Yes, Lady Stark feared that her eldest son would fall in battle. She freed Jaime to ensure that her daughter would not suffer if the Northern army was defeated." Tywin said.

Tyrion almost felt sorry for Lady Catelyn. But then the foolish woman had nearly gotten him killed at the Eyrie. "Where is Jaime now?"

"That is of no importance to you. Just know that Jaime is returning to King's Landing. Now, we need to finish off the Starks." Tywin said.

"Finish off? They are winning. They slaughtered the army of the Reach." Tyrion said.

"Have you forgotten what I taught you? War is more than swords and spears. There is a tool for every task, and a task for every tool." Tywin said.

He wondered whether his father had become ensnared by his own legend, the man who triumphed in the Rains of Castamere. The Starks were not the Reynes. "These tools seem to be failing. Everyone knows that Roose Bolton was your man. And now they realize traitors to the North are burnt at the stake."

"Bolton is not the only traitor in their army. Rivermen have never been loyal." Tywin said.

"Why not just return Lady Sansa and pay weregild? The sword Ice, Ned Stark's bones. If the Starks want to freeze in the North, let them." Tyrion said.

"The wolves have made a mockery of the Lannister name. Our own houses refuse to follow us in battle. And what if the Starks should claim the Throne?" Tywin said.

"Through a Baratheon bastard apprenticed in the Street of Steel? Who would follow him? The Stormlanders are a prickly lot. Stannis is too proud to marry his daughter to a smith with smallfolk blood." Tyrion said.

"Knights of the Vale fought for the North in the last battle. What if they are joined by their fathers and brothers? Royce and Redfort could declare for the Starks. And Jon Snow sent Amory Lorch to Dorne. The Martells will torture him into squealing." Tywin said.

The murder of a Dornish princess and the royal children sixteen years ago. Tyrion knew that terrible things were done for power, but the stain of those three deaths could not be washed from his father's hands. "How do you expect to vanquish the Starks? They have won every battle, and if they should strike an alliance with Dorne or the Vale, we're fucked. With time and allies, Jon Snow and Robb Stark could take King's Landing." Tyrion said.

"Robb Stark and Jon Snow are better on the field but there is more to war than fighting. We cannot defeat them in the open. We can attack from the shadows. A pack of wolves is hard to kill. But a lone wolf can be hunted down and skinned." Tywin said, finishing the third raven.

**Author's Note**

I have talked about Roman medicine before but it is extremely impressive. The third most senior commander of the legion was the praefectus catrorum, the camp prefect in charge of the medical service. The medicus primus was a trained physician who served for tours of duty. People who wanted to be trained as doctors could enlist, be trained, and serve for 25 years. Augustus, the first emperor, bestowed the status of knight on all doctors in the army.

I have read some articles that claim only the modern world was concerned with the bodies of fallen soldiers, citing the efforts of the US military to retrieve fallen soldiers. But funeral rites were a big deal in the past. In the Iliad, the recovery of Hector's corpse is a big deal. Of course not all bodies could be recovered. But the notion of allowing enemy bodies to be buried after battle in accordance with religious practice isn't uncommon. In the Iliad, Patroclus is burned on a pyre, and his bones collected into a golden urn with two layers of fat.

Hannibal did not march immediately on Rome (250 miles away) after Cannae. One of his cavalry commanders, when told that Hannibal had decided against that, said "You know how to conquer, Hannibal; but you do not know how to make use of your victory." We will never know but most historians believe Hannibal was correct in his assessment. These are the same issues Robb is wrestling with. Tactical brilliance matters less in a siege. Rome, even after Cannae, had a huge wealth of manpower which Hannibal, far away from Carthage, could not match. He could recruit Gauls, but these are small numbers. Rome lost 50K+ at Cannae. In a few months, they replaced that, showing how strong the Roman belief system was. .

I haven't broken down the numbers between the North and the River, but think about the last battle as a great but costly victory. Historians note that Hannibal lost 6,000 to 8,000 at Cannae while the Romans lost 50,000. Depending on how you count the Boltons, Robb loses 3500 to 5500. The Starks could not rely on the Bolton men so Robb loses 5500 men - so his army is down to 13K with 3,000+ injured. The Starks could have killed the entire Tyrell-Lannister army except for a couple thousand that escape - they spared roughly half. Adjusting for Robb's mercy, the ratios are the same.

The injury toll of three thousand may sound high but it really wasn't. Of course Cannae was more brutal than the battle in the story. But there are records that Hannibal did not march on Rome because 10,000 of his men were injured. That is twenty percent of his force.

Poisoning or denying water resources is certainly not considered noble but has happened several times in the past. In 600 BC, Athens poisoned an aqueduct leading to Cirrha, a city under siege. Other reports claim Athens built a dam rather than use poisoned herbs. In 430 BC, Sparta poisons wells near Athens. Caesar sent his miners to wreck one spring and posted guarded on the other spring for Uxellodum during the Gallic Wars. The town soon surrenders. Saladin uses water as a weapon to defeat the Crusaders. He lured them away from springs and fill in wells. Before the Battle of Hattin (1187), the Franks were despond, tormented by thirst. Now one can argue how successful these efforts really are. My sense is that it is as psychological as it is practical.

Randyll Tarly is referring to leading the vanguard at the Battle of Ashford during the Rebellion. He says very similar words to Guyard Morrigen before the Battle of the Blackwater. Of course, Ned Stark also says something similar - that he would not trade his honor for a few more years of life. Then Varys threatens him with Sansa's life, and Ned Stark recants his statement. I always thought Ned should have demanded a trial by combat. He had a bum leg but the best fighters were in the Riverlands.

I personally do not understand why Daenerys burning Randyll and Dickon was a big deal. They had betrayed their liege, Lady Olenna. She offered them the chance to bend the knee. Do we really think Cersei or Tywin or anybody wouldn't have executed them? So what they died by fire. They were going to die anyway.

Death by fire can be quick by asphyxiation. But if there is a wind, or the pile of wood is damp or small, death can take hours. When Mary the First, a staunch Catholic, persecuted Protestants with burning at the stake, a priest begged for forty five minutes to be killed more quickly.

"A beast in human skin" is how Robett Glover describes Ramsay Snow. The irony of course is labelling Jon in the same manner. I also like the contrast of Jon with Aerys. And the best moment of a Dance with Dragons was when Mace Tyrell, as Hand of a King, sat on a chair that was shaped like a hand.

The sack of Highgarden by Jaime Lannister was one of the main explanations of the Lannister comeback in Season 8. The argument is that with Tarly as traitor, the Tyrells had no idea. Well - Jaime Lannister has to march 600+ miles from Casterly Rock to Highgarden. He would have to march 700+ from King's Landing. Could an enemy army march that far without being detected by anyone loyal to the Tyrells? I get that Tarly was supposed to be this major commander - but what about the rest of the bannermen? Where were they?

As for crossing that type of great distance, most medieval armies were incredibly slow. To give you a sense, it took Harold Godwinson 18 days to move his army 241 miles South to face William the Conqueror. People generally consider Harold's army march incredibly fast. Other historians comment that people were concerned about Harold's physical and mental state. Some sources though state that much of Harold's army didn't travel, and that he had to recruit new men. Either way, the point was that 240 miles in under 18 days was hard. The one great exception to this would be the Mongols. They travelled all on horse, and they had multiple horses per warrior. Mongol armies could travel up to 100 miles per day which was blazingly fast back then. It was one of the keys to how the Mongols could easily beat forces that outnumbered them, because their speed disrupted enemy plans.

In feudalism, the lord has responsibilities to their vassals. I am not a huge Margaery fan but I think she would make a good queen. Hence, her sensibility in trying to find out a solution. The Tyrells could care less if Sansa is a captive. Sending her a ransom to pay off the North would sound eminently sensible to them. England and France paid off the Vikings multiple times.

I have read the Arianne chapter in the Winds of Winter and everyone, including her older sister, is dismissive toward Teora's visions. Honestly - this is a dumb trope. Bran predicts the Ironborn will attack Winterfell - but Jojen says nobody will believe you. In a world where dragons are born, a red priestess can conjure shadows, and the dead walk, why don't people believe in magic? By this time, everyone knows Daenerys has dragons. And there are dragons skulls in King's Landing. So in this story, Valena brings Teora to see the Martells.

In the middle ages, doctors believed that there were four humors - sanguine (blood), choleric (yellow bile), melancholic (black bile) and phlegmatic (phlegm.) People believed this since Hippocrates in the 4th century BC. Melancholic is related to sadness and depression - which aligns closest to prophecies of doom. It took 2000 years for the four humors to be challenged by William Harvey, an English physician who documented his discoveries in anatomy. It took twenty years for Harvey's theory on how blood circulated to be accepted.

In the chapters on GRRM's webpage, Teora says **"They were dancing. In my dream. And everywhere the dragons danced, the people died."** In the books, there is (fake) Aegon, who is about to take Storm's End. Presumably a more believable version of weakening Daenerys would be a clash between Aegon and Dany with their armies.

For fans of military history, the surrender is based on the meeting at Appomattox Court House. Grant had communicated with Lincoln and the two agreed that generous terms be given so the country could start healing. Grant allowed the South to surrender with dignity, and the Southern men kept their horses, mules, and side arms. Both generals told their men to go home and farm. When other generals heard, they accepted the terms rapidly. There were one or two small battles (far West), but in a month, the vast majority of the Confederate army surrendered without bloodshed. The South remained grateful to Grant for his kindness.

Tywin's words mirror Ned Stark's advice to his kids. As Arya notes, it was the lone wolf that survived while the wolves of the pack were skinned. But then again, Arya did not know her brothers and sister (Jon, Bran and Sansa) were alive.


	28. The Sundering

**The Sundering**

The celebration for the dead had been long forgotten. News of the Kingslayer dominated the camp. Arya prayed to her gods that the old Tully knight had lied, that her mother had not betrayed House Stark. She sought her brothers out, hiding her face under a gray wool cowl.

"The Kingslayer must have a golden cock. He sleeps with the Queen, and now Lady Stark opens her legs for him." a knight with a black pitchfork on a golden bar sinister sneered.

"Shut your bloody mouth, Haigh." a Cerwyn man said.

"Why should I? Why else would she free the Kingslayer?" the man replied. "He fucked her and she let him go. The Tullys have been fucked by the Lannisters before. Maybe they like it."

It's not true, Arya desperately hoped. They were telling lies. But the camp had turned angry and tense, and no one, not even the Tully men, raised their voice to defend her lady mother.

The torches at the pavilion revealed dozens of armed guards, standing a respectful distance away from Robb's command tent. They were all Stark men and they carried spears and wore steel mail shirts and caps. There were no smiles on their faces.

She found a spot next to Dacey Mormont. Less than ten Northern lords had been allowed entrance and even fewer rivermen. A grim Ser Brynden stopped a nervous Edmure from pacing.

"How did Ser Jaime go free?" Robb asked Ser Robin Ryger.

"Lord Stark, we were travelling on the riverroad. Lady Catelyn wished to stay a night at the Inn of the Kneeling Man. Our men were happy for a hot meal and a warm bed. Her sworn sword guarded the Kingslayer that night. When we woke the next morning, the two were gone with horses. Lady Catelyn then told us that she released Ser Jaime." the bald knight said.

"Madness, why would she do this?" Wylis Manderly asked.

"For Lady Sansa. She says she was promised her daughter's safety." Ryger said.

"Did you search for them?" Robb said.

"Hallis Mollen and I sent riders west on the road. We looked for hours, my lord but found no trace. After a day, I rode South to alert you. Hallis wanted to search for longer, but we had not found any trail. No one saw them on the river road. I would swear that." Ryger said.

The Inn of the Kneeling Man was a hundred miles from Riverrun, near Stone Hedge. It was an odd place to release a captive who would have to ride far to reach the crownlands.

"Did Lady Stark receive a raven at the inn?" Jon asked. The old knight stammered and hesitated. "Answer the question, Ser Robin - did she receive a raven?"

"Yes, a raven was waiting for her at the inn. We thought it was a message from Lord Stark." "I just sent you off to Riverrun. Why would I send a raven to an inn when I am fighting a battle?" Robb said.

"Did Lady Stark send a raven from the inn?" Jon said. Ser Ryger gulped and nodded.

"And you did not inquire about these messages?" Robb said.

"My lord, it is not for us to question our lady. She is Lord Hoster's eldest child and Lord Stark's wife. Hallis says he has followed her orders for fifteen years without question." Ryger said. Arya doubted that Hallis Mollen would remain captain of the guards for House Stark any longer.

"I say we find the Kingslayer and take his head." Lord Karstark yelled.

"My Lord, there was no trace of Ser Jaime. Our men searched for days." Ryger said.

"You had twenty men. I have two thousand." Karstark said. "I will find him, and send the Kingslayer back to Tywin in pieces. A son for a son. Blood for blood."

Robb ignored the outburst. "Where is my lady mother now?"

"Hallis is bringing her here, my Lord. He should arrive in a day." Ryger said.

"Lord Karstark, you will wait until Lady Stark arrives. I wish to hear her reasons." Robb said.

Edmure Tully looked like he wanted to speak but a cold glare from Karstark stopped him. Robb dismissed the other lords. Arya would have left but Ghost pressed his shaggy pale fur against her leg. She slipped into the corner and waited until only her brothers remained.

* * *

"How did you know about a raven?" Robb said.

"If your mother intended to free Ser Jaime, she would have done so at Harroway or near the Inn at the Crossroads. It would be far easier to escape to the Crownlands from there. So, something changed her mind. A message or an offer from the Lannisters." Jon explained.

"Can you find Ser Jaime?" Robb asked.

"How?" Jon asked. "I am not a warlock who drinks shade of the evening and mumbles about his powers. No blue lips. "

"Jon, you do know magic. You proved that at the Whispering Wood, and at the Red Fork. And the wind at the God's Eye was unnatural." Robb said.

"There is magic and there is magic. Seeing through the eyes of Ghost or a raven is a small thing. But Jaime Lannister was released five days ago. He could be a hundred miles in any direction. Even if I were at the Inn of the Kneeling Man, it would be hard to find him." Jon said and sighed. "Fine, brother - I will try. I will send Ghost and ravens north, but without any hint of his plans, it will be hard."

"If you were the Kingslayer, how would you escape the Riverlands?" Robb said.

"I wouldn't escape. Your lady mother sent a raven from the Inn. That means whoever made the offer received an answer. Bolton says there are others that will break faith with House Stark. They may send men to rescue Ser Jaime, or give him shelter." Jon said.

Robb looked at a map of the Riverlands. "The Inn of the Kneeling Man is between Stone Hedge, and Raventree Hall. But the Brackens and the Blackwoods have fought bravely for us."

"It may not be them. But there are many, many riverlords with holdfasts near the Trident. Tywin Lannister needs to only bribe one, and the Kingslayer could hide there, until he is rescued."

"He wouldn't do that." Arya insisted.

"Why not?" Rob said.

"Brienne is with him, mother's sworn sword. She would insist that he go to King's Landing for Sansa's sake." Arya said.

"That assumes Brienne is still alive." Jon said to his sister's shock. "Arya, Jaime Lannister is one of the most skilled warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. Why wouldn't he just kill Brienne and travel alone? I would. Why would Ser Jaime need her alive to return to King's Landing?"

"But Brienne is a great fighter. She is big and strong." Arya said.

"Better than the Kingslayer? He almost defeated all my guards at the Whispering Wood. He was beating both Dacey and Eddard when Jon captured him." Robb said.

"Even if Brienne was skilled, she has to rest. She cannot kill him. But he can murder her in her sleep. He can use a rock or her sword." Jon said.

"Do you think Brienne is dead?" Arya said. Jon shrugged. "I do not know. But it is possible, even likely. Lady Catelyn put her in grave danger. Brienne will live only if the Kingslayer allows it."

* * *

Tyrion Lannister enjoyed clever schemes, sharp wit and a clever tongue. But only when he understood their meaning. Sadly, he was not certain what game Varys was playing that morning. The eunuch appeared at breakfast, with colorful saffron robes smelling of lavender and lilac. His soft white hands clutched the Tyroshi honeyfinger like a spider playing with a fly.

"I am sorry but Lady Sansa is indisposed." Tyrion said, finishing the savory kidney pie. Sandor Clegane barred the way to the Stark girl as did Bronn's sellswords.

"Pity. I merely want to make certain of her health. She is after all quite important to your house, and death can be so sudden in King's Landing." Varys giggled and smiled.

Tyrion lifted a goblet of wine to give himself time to think. Had the Spider discovered his father's promises to Lady Catelyn? And was that a threat to Sansa Stark? If the North thought the Stark girl died due to the Lannisters, all hell would break loose.

"Surely no one would wish Lady Sansa harm. She is only a girl." Tyrion said.

"We all know how much Lannisters care about the health of children. Your bannermen are famous for it. Ser Amory Lorch sang quite the tale at Sunspear until the Martells ripped his tongue out." The Spider said sweetly.

"I had ten name days at the Sack of King's Landing, and I was eight hundred miles away at Casterly Rock. I do not know what happened at the Red Keep then." Tyrion said.

"You do not know because you do not care to ask. But Oberyn Martell does, and he was seen on Cape Wrath, riding for King's Landing." Varys said.

Tyrion did not wish to deal with this. The Red Viper hated the Lannisters and had a fearsome reputation for violence and unpredictability. Still, Oberyn Martell, given the past, was known to abhor the killing of children. He hoped that would be shield enough for his niece.

"Varys, I know you like your little secrets. But I cannot spend the days eating honey fingers and kidney pies. Or even drinking Arbor Gold. As Hand of the King, many important tasks require my attention." Tyrion pushed the plate away to dismiss the eunuch.

"Ah yes, you are the Hand." Varys chucked into the folds of his robes. "And I am a member of the Small Council. I serve you at your pleasure, my Lord, just as you serve the King."

"I am afraid these meetings require the utmost of secrecy." Tyrion said.

The Spider looked puzzled although the tilt of his head and his eyebrow were exaggerated. "Which meeting, my lord? The one with the Black Ears that you intend to send back to the Vale. Or the summoning of the Most Devout at the Great Sept of Baelor?"

Tyrion gritted his teeth. He expected Varys to learn about his appointments, but only after they occured. "You may accompany me to see the High Septon this morning." The eunuch nodded, the smile reached his eyes this time.

"I'd rather not. He is a fat pig who grows ever fatter on lampreys while the poor starve. My little birds tell me I am unwelcome at the Sept and that the high septon says that I am a heathen from Essos." Varys sighed.

"You are a heathen from Essos." Tyrion retorted.

"True. Better a heathen than a hypocrite. What do you want with the Most Devout?"

"For them to spread the word that Snow is a sorcerer and an enemy of the Faith." Tyrion said.

Varys chuckled. "The North follows the Old Gods. They will not care."

"But the Riverlords do not. And a proclamation from the Most Devout that Jon Snow commits blasphemy and dabbles in dark magic may drive men away from the Starks." Tyrion said. "And back to the Lannisters? Only fools listen to the High Septon. But if you want him to bleat your song, you will need gold. He cares about blasphemy as much as you do." Varys said.

The door opened and two giant men plowed forward, in green cloaks edged with gold and satin. The lady in between them was tiny and white haired but the rich clothes and the pendant of a golden rose announced her quite clearly. A dozen green cloaked spearmen followed and several knights from the Reach.

"Lady Olenna, to see you again after so many years is a blessing." Varys simpered.

"Oh, shut up, Varys." The Queen of Thorns said. Ser Garlan reached for his sword, and Tyrion realized the Tyrell men were heavily armed. "We need to see Sansa Stark."

The eunuch quirked his eyebrows. "I have heard that she is indisposed."

Olenna snorted and gazed at Tyrion. "What do you need to speak to her about?" he said.

"Business involving House Tyrell." Olenna said.

"I intend to keep the girl safe. I will not allow….." Tyrion said.

Olenna interrupted. "Who will keep you safe, Lord Tyrion? By year's end, my granddaughter will be queen. My son will be Hand of the King. Where will you be?"

Tyrion tapped his fingers together. As a Lannister, he had his father's protection but Lady Olenna was not Catelyn Stark. She would not strike openly. And the Tyrells were wealthy enough to pursue him to Essos. Before he could decide, Sandor Clegane moved aside. A calm Sansa Stark walked out and curtsied.

"Lady Olenna, I would be happy to speak." the girl said.

* * *

Sansa Stark asked the servants for pears poached in wine and a cheese plate. She calmed herself by filling a cup of sweet plum wine for Lady Olenna and Ser Garlan. Clegane hovered near and the Hound glared at Olenna's twin seven footers. Tyrion and the eunuch sat at the table, munching honeyfingers.

"You know the results of the battle at the God's Eye?" the tiny old woman said.

"Yes, my lady. I have heard stories from the servants." Sansa turned to Ser Garlan. "Ser, I am glad that my brothers did not take your head."

"I am glad too. I like my head and wish to keep it." The knight smiled ruefully.

Olenna sighed, her years clearly showing. "Your brothers captured many of our men. They intend to keep the very highborn as hostages but have demanded a ransom for the other Reachmen. Snow has said he will kill them all if we do not pay."

Sansa nodded. She was not surprised at those threats. The scullery maids at the Tower of the Hand gossiped about the capture of the Golden Tooth, of boys flung over walls, women starved for weeks and children dragged from septs. They wondered if the wolves would come to King's Landing and murder them in their sleep.

"Are these simply words? Or will House Stark massacre unarmed prisoners?" Olenna said.

"Robb would not. But I have not seen Jon since he left for the Citadel." Sansa said.

"But what do you think? Will Robb Stark allow this outrage by his brother?" Olenna said.

"Outrage? My father's men and servants were slaughtered by the gold cloaks. Septa Mordane's head was mounted on a spike on top of the Red Keep. The Lannisters did not allow Stark guards to be ransomed." Sansa said.

"That was a different Lannister." Tyrion said uncomfortably.

"And a very stupid one. It would be better to have hostages." Olenna said. "Lady Sansa. Tell me the truth. Would your brothers kill prisoners? Butcher thousands of men after the battle?"

"Perhaps. Jon has the North in him." Sansa said.

"What does that mean?" Tyrion asked.

"My father says the North is hard and cold, and has no mercy. So yes, I believe Jon would kill your men. Why feed captives when they can be turned into gold?" Sansa said.

"He sounds like a delight. Didn't Snow hang you from a gibbet?" Varys snarked at Tyrion.

"The wolves set me free in exchange for Ned Stark and his daughters." Tyrion said.

"My father is dead, and I am a prisoner here. I hope Jon finds you again, Lord Tyrion. I hope you learn how the North treats oathbreakers." Sansa said.

* * *

He dreamt of dragons, not wolves. Ghost had run North to the River Road and the ravens had flown last night to the Trident but in his sleep, he only saw dragons. Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel, Jaehaerys the Wise. He saw all the Aegons - the first of his name, the greedy one, the sad one, the whoremonger, and the unlikely. The maesters claimed the Targaryens danced too close to the edge of madness. Perhaps they did. What did it mean for him?

He saw his father, Rhaegar Targaryen. Long silver blond hair, deep purple eyes, a red half cloak over night black plate armor - the last dragon. Jon wondered - had Rhaegar triumphed at the Ruby Ford, how would his life have turned out? Would he have been embraced as a Targaryen prince or shunned as his father's shame? Rhaegar had loved his mother - he was sure of that. But that love had been a sad story.

Was I worth it, father? Your death at the Ruby Ford, my mother's death in Dorne, a bloody war, the murders of my brother and sister, and the end of a dynasty. Was I worth it - Jon wondered as he gazed upon his father and the kings of his house, stretching back for 300 years.

You're a dragon, the shades whispered. And nothing matters more than the birth of a dragon. But that wasn't true, Jon thought. There were Targaryens that had not mattered - babes who died within a few years, girls married off for alliances, even kings who had done little or died too quickly. There were princes who drank themselves to death and princesses who led lives of quiet misery. Only a few Targaryens had benefited the realm.

Jon saw a vision of a castle on the foothills of reddish streaked mountains. A towering fire had broken out - an inferno that consumed the pleasure palace of Summerhall. This is what happens when you attempt to birth dragons, he thought. His father had been born here, amidst fire and grief. Aegon the Unlikely had died there, with his son and his friend, the two Duncans. They had failed, but what if they succeeded? What if the eggs hatched?

Jon cleared his mind. He had no egg and no way to acquire a dragon. He had an army of Northmen over a thousand miles away from home. Too far to get reinforcements, and eager to return home after six moons. As for the Riverlords, their lands had been pillaged and burnt. They might desire revenge but they also needed to rebuild their holdfasts.

He came upon Arya perched on a high rock, with Nymeria hovering like a protective denmother. The dark gray she-wolf was a head taller than her mistress and looked nearly as somber. Arya looking to the North, searching for her mother's horse.

"Do you think they will punish her?" she said, biting her lip.

"They? Robb is the one your mother betrayed. And Robb will be the one that has to render judgment." Jon said.

"But, she was doing it for Sansa." Arya said.

"What would Ned Stark have done, if a bannerman freed the Kingslayer?" Jon said.

Arya wrapped her arms about Nymeria's neck. She took great comfort in her dire wolf just as Jon did with Ghost. "Taken his head." Her voice was slightly muffled in the grey fur. "But she must have had her reasons."

Nymeria accepted Jon's touch with no complaint as he patted his sister's arm. "Everyone has reasons. That does not mean they are right." There was nothing more he could say.

* * *

That afternoon, as the sun hung low in the cloudy sky over the cold steel of the God's Eye, a shamed Hallis Mollen led Catelyn Stark into the main tent. Bystanders gawked and whispered as the lady walked forward, a dire wolf pin on her heavy gray cloak. Her brother Edmure hastened to Catelyn's side but the Blackfish stayed back. Only a single representative from each of the great houses of the North were allowed, along with Arya and Jon.

"Lady Stark, did you release Ser Jaime Lannister?" Robb asked. He had put on the solemn stone face but he lacked the hard cold eyes of his father.

"Yes, Lord Stark. At the Inn of the Kneeling Man." Catelyn said.

"Why?" Robb demanded, his voice cutting through the silence of the tent.

"They made promises about ….." she said.

"Promises? More like lies. What are the words of southron cunts worth?" Karstark yelled.

"Be quiet, Lord Karstark. My lady mother is speaking. What promises?" Robb said.

"Assurances for Sansa's safety. That no matter the outcome of the battle, she would not be harmed or mistreated. I feared for her life in King's Landing - that she might be beaten, tortured or abused." Catelyn said.

"Who made the promises?" Jon asked.

"There were three. Petyr Baelish vowed that he would protect Sansa and plead for her well being to the Iron Throne. Ser Jaime Lannister swore on his honor as a knight that he would see Sansa returned safe and unharmed. He would compel his brother and father to honor that pledge. And Lord Tywin." Catelyn said.

"That was the raven at the Inn?" Jon said.

"Yes. Lord Tywin promised on the honor of House Lannister that Sansa would not be harmed if Jaime was freed. Baelish claimed that Lord Tywin had sent ravens before to the Inn." she said.

That last promise sealed Ser Jaime's release. Lady Stark believed that Tywin would keep his word, despite House Lannister's history of treachery.

"A whoremonger, an oathbreaker, and Tywin Lannister. How can you trust any of them?" Rickard yelled in a red fury.

"Baelish has already lied to us. Jaime Lannister killed the king he swore to protect. And father would have never trusted Lord Tywin, not after the sack." Robb said.

"Tywin Lannister may be ruthless but he will honor his promise. He cares greatly about the Lannister name. He will not break his vow." Catelyn said. "My lords, my son Bran was crippled by the Lannisters. I do not wish to lose my oldest daughter."

Rickard Karstark's face turned from an angry red to a grim cold stare. That was far more worrisome than yelling. "I had three sons. One is dead. Another lost a hand. And the last, my heir, has not woken up for six days. What about my sons? While you plotted with the enemy, my sons fought the Mountain."

Lady Stark faced him calmly. "I grieve for your loss, Lord Rickard. But the Kingslayer's death would not bring back your children. His living may buy safety for Sansa."

"The Lannisters have played you for a fool. And you are a traitor - to the North, and to House Stark. My Torrhen deserved better. I want vengeance against the lions. If I cannot have the Mountain's head, I will return the Kingslayer to his lord father in two pieces." Rickard said.

"The Kingslayer serves better as a captive. We do not want him dead. As our prisoner, his life protected Sansa, not the words of Baelish or Lord Tywin." Robb said.

"She was still beaten bloody in front of the court. And trapped at the Tower of the Hand for the past moon. Who knows what Tyrion Lannister has done! He may want revenge against the Starks and hurt Sansa." Catelyn said.

Revenge against her, Jon thought. It was Catelyn Stark who kidnapped Tyrion in a reckless flight of fancy. She made it worse by losing him at the Eyrie. Had she brought him to King's Landing when Robert Baratheon was alive, a trial would have stopped this entire war.

Lord Karstark stood up and directed an icy narrow voice to Robb. "My Lord, what will you do? Your mother conspired with our enemies."

The Greatjon crossed his huge arms together and stood in front of Lady Stark. "Leave off, Karstark. It was a mother's folly. A woman looking to protect a babe."

"Folly? I name it treason. My Torrhen is dead. While he fell in battle, the Kingslayer scurried back to King's Landing thanks to Lady Stark. I demand justice for my sons." Karstark said. He stormed off, pushing through the Greatjon and Wylis Manderly.

"Perhaps we can capture the Kingslayer before it is too late." Dacey said.

"We do not know where he is. He could be anywhere." Jon said.

Robb held his hand up. "My lords, I must speak to my lady mother, alone." Edmure hesitated but the Blackfish pulled him away. Soon, the tent only held the Starks and Jon Snow.

* * *

Robb Stark placed both hands over his face. Only his thick red brown hair could be seen, the vestiges of his Tully blood. Jon stood at his right side, waiting for his brother to speak. Arya stayed quite as well, refusing to meet her mother's eyes.

"Robb, I am sorry. I…" Lady Catelyn started.

"You betrayed me. Why?" Robb said in a flat voice.

"For Sansa. I could not bear it if she was hurt." Catelyn said. "I know he was a valued prisoner but Lord Tywin has promised Sansa's protection in return."

"His loss will cost us dearly. But it is more than the Kingslayer." Robb paced restlessly, his hands clasped together. "Why did you not trust me? Why did you not believe in me?"

"But I do. The men respect you. You will be a good Warden of the North." she said.

"If you believed in me, the Kingslayer would be delivered to Riverrun. You thought I would lose the battle. You thought I would fail, mother. That is why you freed him." Robb said.

"I saw the Tyrell army with you at Bitterbridge. They had fifty thousand swords. Thousands and thousands of knights. And there were Lannister reinforcements as well ." Catelyn said.

"At Harrenhal, I told you that Jon and I have a strategy to defeat them. Why did you not believe me? I have won all my battles. I have not been beaten on the field" Robb cried.

"They had so many more men. And Lord Tarly is a great soldier. I feared that Sansa would be killed or worse. If you died, the Lannisters would have her at their mercy." Catelyn said.

"They still do. Ser Jaime Lannister may have sworn to return her but Baelish and Tywin did not. Tywin only said that she should be safe, not freed." Jon said.

"Jaime Lannister swore to compel his brother and father to release her." Catelyn said.

"He is Commander of the Kingsguard. What power does he have over his father?" Jon replied. "We all know who rules House Lannister."

"Tywin Lannister is our true enemy. Joffrey may have chopped off my father's head, but he would not dared to commit such an offense without Lannister swords and gold. You have humiliated me in front of my men. How can I lead an army when I cannot control my own mother? Who will trust me to lead them in battle?" Robb said.

"It cannot be so bad. You won against Lord Tarly. You have a hundred highborn prisoners at Riverrun and captured many lords of the Reach."

"Tywin Lannister does not give a shit about the other prisoners. If they die, what does it matter? Jaime Lannister is his oldest son. He had more value than all the other prisoners combined. You know that. So does everyone else." Robb said.

"I am sorry, Robb but I did this for my love of Sansa. I am a Tully of Riverrun, and our words are **Family, Duty, Honor.** I would sacrifice my duty and honor for my family." Catelyn said.

Robb turned his back on his mother. "You did not sacrifice your honor and duty. You sacrificed mine. How can I command an army when I cannot control my own mother? Lord Karstark is right to be angry. He lost a son while Tywin Lannister gained his back."

"I did not know about the Karstarks. You cannot blame me for that." Catelyn cried.

"Men die in battle. If it wasn't Torrhen, it might have been the Smalljon or a Manderly brother. My father said that our bannermen are loyal to House Stark because we fight for them. How can we do so when we help our enemies?" Robb said.

"Robb, I…." Catelyn said.

Robb raised his hand. "Leave me, mother. You have done enough." They watched in silence as a wretched Lady Stark exited the tent.

* * *

"I thought the battles would be the hard part. I did not think I would have to worry about my own mother." Robb said bitterly. "Karstark is furious. And I have no answer for him." He held his head in his hands, and continued to pace. "You found no trace of the Kingslayer."

"None. The river is one hundred and fifty miles away. Ser Jaime may have taken the river road. He might be on a boat on the Red Fork. He may be hidden in a castle of a traitor. In five days, he could cover a great deal of distance. He may even have left the Riverlands." Jon said.

Robb shook his head. "What can we do about the Kingslayer, Jon? How can we recover from this folly and make amends with Karstark?"

"He lost a son. He will not be happy unless he has spilled Lannister blood." Jon replied.

"You don't mean to allow him to kill our captives." Robb said surprised.

Jon shook his head. "The other captives hardly matter. He wants the Kingslayer or the Mountain. Ser Jaime has been gone five days. That is enough time to flee the Riverlands, but not enough to get to King's Landing. We do not have much time. I say attack now with all our forces. Burn Stokeworth and Rosby to the ground. Cut off Duskendale. Prepare to besiege King's Landing. Forget Jaime Lannister. Bring the war to the Crownlands."

"We do not have the men to take King's Landing - not quickly. And we don't have the Kingslayer. If we starve the city, they may kill Sansa." Robb said.

"But what about the promises to protect her?" Arya asked.

"Would you trust Tywin Lannister? The man who sacked King's Landing and ordered the rape and pillage of the Riverlands? The man who employs monsters like Clegane and Hoat? He may not know if the Kingslayer is safe. And even if he did, when has honor ever meant anything to the Lannisters?" Robb said.

"I grant you that there is risk, and that our injured are not ready. But the time is now, before the Kingslayer returns to King's Landing. Nothing is certain in war. There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, can lead to victory. We need to remain on the attack. We need to press Tywin Lannister in the open, and not in the shadows." Jon said.

"We do not have enough men, Jon. Combined, the Lannisters, Tyrells and the city guards will be more than twenty thousand. And they are fighting behind walls. This is not Oxcross. They will see us coming and be able to prepare." Robb said.

"It would be better to have more soldiers and if our injured could recover. But the only thing that matters is to fight at the right place and the right time. The right place is King's Landing, so we can force Tywin into the field. The right time is now." Jon said.

"And Karstark?" Robb said.

"Punish Lady Stark harshly. After that, send the Karstarks into the Crownlands to hunt the Mountain. Better he kill our enemies then lurch about the Riverlands." Jon said.

"She is my mother, Jon. I cannot punish her severely. I can send her back to Winterfell or keep her locked away at Riverrun. She is my blood." Robb said.

"Robb, you are not a Tully. You are a Stark. You were raised to rule the North. We have to defeat the Lannisters. We lose, we die, and so does the North." Jon said.

"I cannot risk Sansa's life - and what sentence can I give my mother? I will not send her to the Silent Sisters." Robb said.

"Why not? Lady Catelyn does not need to swear a vow of silence, but she should be banished from your side. If we win the war, welcome her back. Karstark will not care if we win and the Mountain is slain." Jon said.

"You don't understand, Jon. You don't have a mother. If you did, you would not send her away to a sept. I will not shame her." Robb said.

An icy silence fell over the tent as her brothers glared at each other. "You are right, Lord Stark. I don't have a mother." Jon turned and walked away. Arya did not know who was in the right. She could not blame Robb for protecting their mother, but Jon's advice seemed right. Her mother had made a serious error. And the North would remember how the Kingslayer had been freed, and who had freed him.

* * *

The birds sang sweetly and the muddy red river flowed beneath the boat as the triangular sails picked up a strong east wind, blowing them into sight of the pink stone walls of the harbor. Lannister gold had paid for the impassive captain who managed the sails and tillers of the small cog. The old seaman was quiet, speaking to the two passengers only on the few occasions that he needed a second or third hand for reefings, shifting the ballast and tacking. He does not wish to know our names, Jaime Lannister realized. Profit mattered more to Braavosi than stories.

Jaime laughed out loud as the sun tickled the gray whiskers on his face. He had kept his full scraggly beard grown over the last four moons but hacked his long golden locks short. With the homespun brown cowl and robe, he could pass for a begging brother. That could not be said for his companion, well over six feet tall with broader shoulders than the Clegane brothers. She insisted on wearing dented plate mail on board, despite the captain's sour looks.

"You have to keep out of sight." Brienne hissed. The deep blue cobalt of the armor peeked out of the drab brown cloak, and a quartered sun and moon was displayed on the pauldrons.

"No one will notice me, wench." Jaime said. "They will stare at you."

Brienne blushed. "Knights wear armor. The Riverlands may be peaceful but fighting men are still needed."

"You are not a man, wench. And we are nearly out of the Riverlands." The walled town of Maidenpool could be seen to the South. They had crossed the Quiet Isle hours ago, and the red water of the Trident had been replaced by blue. Tyrion would know where the Bay of Crabs began and the Trident ended. Jaime barely cared. He only wanted to return to King's Landing.

'You will have to hide below deck." Brienne said. The cog pulled closer to the harbor and Jaime could see the great stone bathhouse where Good Queen Alysanne had almost died. He began to sing Six Maids in a Pool, a ditty about Jonquil and her sisters bathing while Florian the Fool watched. "What are you doing? We don't want any attention." she said.

"Rather late for that." Jaime said. Armed men wearing a red fish on white waited at the docks. They carried spears and wore helms with fish crests. But these were not Tully guards wearing trouts. A pale whiskered man stepped forth. He looked soft and tired, and his fancy ornate armor could not hide a fleshy flabby body.

Brienne drew her sword, attempting to block any entry on the gangplank. Jaime snorted, and flipped down his cowl. The wench might be strong and skilled with the sword, but she knew little about the world. There were at least eight guards, and no way for the ship to escape.

"Ser Jaime Lannister?" the fleshy man with the red salmon sigil asked. Jaime nodded. "I am Lord William Mooton. Welcome to Maidenpool."

* * *

He sat on a gilded chair, overlooking the town walls, and the rutted road that led to Duskendale. The raven said that men from Hollard Castle would arrive in a day's time to escort him south. Jaime drank the broth of the thick mutton soup, avoiding the onions and the beets. The food had been brought by only a lone guardsman who Jaime judged as the oldest of the ones at the docks. Clearly, Lord Mooton wanted no servants to learn his identity.

"Go back to Riverrun, wench. I will not need you on the road to King's Landing." Jaime said.

"I swore to return Lady Sansa to her mother, no matter what the danger. I made a sacred vow and I will keep it." Brienne looked warily around the room, full of gilded wood, rich red velvet, and fine woven tapestries. A bright blue Tyroshi tricorn hat rested on a pale gold pillow near the window. Lord Mooton's solar was more garish than a whorehouse.

"There is no danger. Mooton wants us to leave. So does my father." Jaime said flippantly. "We should go bathe in Jonquil's Pool. I will wash your back if you wash mine."

Brienne glared at him with disgust. "I don't understand. Why is Lord Mooton helping you escape? The Starks freed Maidenpool. They saved House Mooton from your father's forces. So why would Lord Mooton help the Lannisters?"

"Simple. He is a coward. Why are you helping me escape?" Jaime said.

"I am pledged to Lady Stark." Brienne said.

"Lady Stark betrayed her son for the same reason that Lord Mooton does. Fear. Mooton has a girl of thirteen name days, two boys who are squires, and some younger babes. He hides them from us but I saw their faces in the windows." Jaime said.

"So?" Brienne asked.

"What do you think my father will do to them?" Jaime waited a moment. "If Mooton betrayed me, his daughters would be raped and his sons tortured. Maidenpool is not far from King's Landing on the Duskendale Road. He might give the girls to Gregor Clegane. As for the boys, they would be lucky to die quickly. Mooton knows that his house can end in a flash."

"But, but.. The Starks are winning the war." Brienne said.

"The Starks have honor. They would not rape young girls. My father does not have such limits. Why do you think he uses the Mountain? Ser Gregor has married three times. All the girls died within six months. What do you think the Mountain does to them before they die? He smashed a baby's head against the wall and raped his mother with Aegon's blood still on his hands. Lord Mooton has bent the knee. After the war, a Lannister will sit on the Iron Throne. My father will be Hand. My sister will be Queen Regent. And the Starks will be a thousand miles away."

"How can your father allow such a thing? Knights and lords are sworn to protect the weak." Brienne said.

"You are a greater fool than Lady Stark if you believe that. My father cares about one thing - the Lannister name. Not his bannermen, not his children - he wants our family name to be feared and respected. And if raping girls and killing children will do it, then so be it. He would put Maidenpool to the torch, just like the Riverlands. My father is a butcher. Robb Stark is not. He does not have the stomach for it." Jaime said.

"Better to be Lord Robb than your father, then." Brienne said.

"You think so, wench? Then why are you helping Tywin Lannister? You are working against Robb Stark, by bringing me to King's Landing." Jaime said.

"I am serving Lady Catelyn." Brienne retorted.

Jaime snorted. "And if Lady Stark asked you to stab her son in the back, or bring her Jon Snow's head, would you do that? Lady Stark is a fool, and so are you. You are helping my father win. And Tywin Lannister always wins."

* * *

The camp was quiet when Jon woke. He had dreamt of dragons again, flying over an ugly square of a city, miles and miles of cramped shabby structures. The roads were broad and lined with trees but the inns, stalls, graveyards, taverns, and tanneries huddled together, like orphans begging in front of the great red keep. Aegon's city. Rhaegar's city. Not mine, Jon thought. I have never been there.

The smell of blood and fire was heavy in the air, or was that still the dream? At night, the wind blew from the fields to the lake, and despite the best efforts of the army and the prisoners, there were still bodies to be burned and buried. In a week, they will all be buried - and even the unknown soldiers would be burnt to ashes and placed six feet below.

A gloomy half light filled his tent. Jon did not feel the chill. He had thrown off the blankets last night, even without the presence of Ghost. He washed his face in the cool water of the basin, and donned his clothes. He strapped a blade to his belt but wore only boiled leather. He didn't even need that. Eddard Karstark, Dacey Mormont and Wendel Manderly guarded him during the day. The youngest Karstark strapped a thick shield to his maimed left arm, and could still fight well with a heavy axe. Not as quick, but Northmen were tough.

The sun had not risen high enough to burn off the grey fog. Jon walked to the God's Eye, and to the quays and posts that dotted the shore. Even through the fog, he could see the boats bobbing on the water, and the arms and buckets of the catapults and siege machines sticking into the air, ready to unleash a forest of missiles.

"Milord." Jon acknowledged the bows and waved them back to work. The smallfolk and villagers had spent the last few days cutting down timber, fitting masts and sails, and building more ballista. These were small machines, suited for quick boats that could sail down the Blackwater. The stones and bolts were not strong enough to damage city walls. He would need to build larger weapons for that, if the army ever got closer to King's Landing.

The cogs, carracks and galleys docked on the God's Eye were not the Iron Fleet. Even the stoutest bireme had only a dozen pairs of oars. But Jon could still use the ships. He could sail them down the blue-green river to the Blackwater Rush. He could supply his forces from the river, and transport men quickly to attack the crownlands. The source of the Mander was only fifty miles from the Blackwater. The upper reaches of the great river were muddy but rough but rafts and skiffs could sail into the heart of the Reach. He might even reach Cider Hall before the Tyrells were aware of the invasion. Before the Targaryens came, the Iron born had used the rivers to terrorize their enemies. He could do the same. But - he did not control the Northern army. Robb commanded the troops.

He had vowed to stand by his brother's side in war. I will not betray Robb, Jon thought. He is my liege lord. The voice inside whispered that was a lie. Robb Stark may have been Warden of the North and head of House Stark but you are the king - the blood of the dragon. You were born to rule, to restore Targaryen rule, and exact retribution for his dead brother and sister. **Fire and Blood** \- those were the words of his house. **Fire and Blood.**

He sensed the wolf before he saw anything through the fog. Then again, Nymeria was taller and broader than his sister. Arya handed over half a loaf of warm bread with a dollop of honey.

"Are you still angry at Robb?" she asked.

Jon took a bite. The bread was delicious, like most of Hot Pie's baking. "I am not angry."

"You are a terrible liar." Arya said.

He chuckled. "I suppose I am. I have never been good at trickery or hiding my thoughts." He was not Ghost, silent as the grave.

"You think Robb is wrong for waiting and not attacking." Arya said.

"There comes a time in every battle and every war where both sides are exhausted and consider themselves weak or beaten. He who continues the attack wins." Jon said.

"Or she - she could win as well." Arya said stubbornly.

Jon nodded. "Or she. Our war with the Lannisters has not ended. We need to continue fighting. Negotiating or trusting Tywin Lannister or Joffrey Baratheon is a dangerous game."

"I want to kill all of them. Tywin. Cersei. Joffrey. Trant. Ilyn Payne. The entire Kingsguard. Everyone who has made our family suffer." Arya said.

"They are all at King's Landing, sister. And that is where I wish to go." Jon said.

* * *

Late that morning, when the sun had burned away the fog, Jon and Arya stood in the tent with the other lords. He kept his eyes on Lord Karstark. Even with Eddard's recovery, Karstark was gaunt and wild-eyed, his long grey beard unkempt. He stared at Catelyn with something worse than anger. Contempt - the Lord of Karhold felt only contempt for Lady Stark.

Robb sat in the middle next to his lady mother. That felt wrong - Catelyn Stark should be lower. She needed to show more remorse than a bowed head.

"My lady mother has confessed to freeing Ser Jaime Lannister. She did so to ensure the safety of my sister Sansa Stark. For her punishment, I send her back to Riverrun under guard and she will remain in the Wheel Tower." Robb announced.

"Is that it, Lord Stark? Is that your justice?" Karstark asked.

"She will be imprisoned in the tower. She will not give any counsel for the war." Robb said.

Karstark spat on the floor. "You mean, she will not be allowed to betray the North further."

"Lord Rickard, I know you are wroth. I would make amends." Catelyn said.

"If you were a man who freed Jaime Lannister, I would challenge you to a duel. Instead, my men will hunt for the Kingslayer. We will search for him in the Riverlands. We will find him and kill him." Rickard grunted.

"My lord, the army must stay together. We cannot allow our host to separate." Robb said.

"If it is not treason to free Lannisters, how can it be treason to hunt them down? Surely you want prisoners, Lord Stark. Or do you mean to send me to my room as well?" Lord Karstark stood up, and walked out.

Outside, Karstark cavalry had already saddled their horses, ready to ride and Karstark infantry formed lines, their tents packed last night. Robb had just lost two thousand men. A remorseful Eddard turned his face away and joined his Lord father. Fools - they were heading in the wrong direction. Jon was certain that they needed to march south.

**Author's Note**

I will address quickly the vitriol I have received on Catelyn releasing Jaime. I have mapped out how I want the war in the Riverlands to go, and Jaime going to King's Landing is a piece of the story. The betrayal of the Starks is also part of the story as well, and I will just say it is part of the hero's arc. The villains - Tywin, Baelish, Varys - these are people who win by treachery.

Some will say this was not the best decision. Catelyn should have done nothing - and they are right. Bad decisions are part of the Game of Thrones. Ned not telling Jon his mother's name was a bad decision. Theon betraying the Starks was idiotic, and Bran not telling others his vision even stupider. Daenerys sitting on her ass in Meereen for many many chapters was stupid. So in this context, Catelyn releases Jaime to make certain that Sansa won't be killed after the battle. Before the battle, everybody thought the North would lose. 18K to 19K tired men against the Reach's heralds of chivalry 35K to 40K strong - the bets to win would not be on the North. Robb says Jon and I have a good plan, but do you blame Catelyn for her doubt? And do you blame Robb for keeping the plan to himself? And the offer from Tywin is not canon.

Some will claim that I despise Catelyn versus a heroic Jon. You are entitled to your thoughts, but Catelyn is a mother, and she cares a great deal about her daughter. Enough to screw over her son's war effort - I say, yes. Just like capturing Tyrion was incredibly damaging for Ned Stark and the Riverlands. As for Jon, his decision making has flaws too. He is still 16, and he is not as ruthless as he should be. I read a good book recently with a protagonist who is amazing. I won't go into names but the hero completely screwed up a decision where he allied with someone who literally stabbed the party in the back. As a result, a party member was killed, and he was captured and tortured. Now I am sure the writer would have been accused of bad decisions, etc. etc., but it was part of this hero's journey. And that journey was awesome.

There is always a suspension of belief but I think the notion of Brienne as a great fighter is way off. Brienne is stronger than Jaime Lannister but that is not how fighting works. Speed and skill are crucial too, (Arya Stark) and Jaime Lannister is described as wicked fast. The quest to return Jaime Lannister to KL is a very strange thing. First, Riverrun is 500 miles away from the capital. It is really hard to get there. I know in the books, Cleos Frey is with them and Ser Jaime is in irons but Cleos is a bad fighter. "He fought like a goose." Second, in the first chapter of Storm of Swords, Jaime could have bashed her head with an oar while she swam in her armor. I really believe that if Jaime was alone, he would have killed Brienne and just tried to go to KL.

Incidentally, if you read the chapter closely, Jaime claims he was drunk when he swore the vows and therefore it doesn't matter if he returns Sansa and Arya. This obviously is the whole Jaime is a true knight and will be redeemed arc. How did he get drunk in a jail? Did Catelyn Stark force feed him wine? I personally think Catelyn Stark made a terribly short sighted bet in the books. It is not different from Doran's bet on Viserys. That was a terrible long sighted bet.

Given that Varys orders little boys with their tongues cut out from Illyrio, it is hypocritical of him to criticize the Lannisters. But then again hypocrisy has never been an issue with the Spider.

The new model for prisoner treatment is based on the fall of Acre in the Crusades. Acre was a city in modern day Israel. After a year and a half, Richard the Lionhearted took the city. He offered an exchange of 2000 Muslim prisoners for 1600 Christian captives, 100,000 gold and the True Cross. Saladin accepted the deal, but a month later, the ransom had not been paid. So Richard took all of the prisoners from Acre to a small hill where in full view of the enemy army, he massacred 3000 soldiers, women and children. Saladin then executed 2300 Christian prisoners in Syria. And Richard the Lionhearted is considered one of the noble medieval kings.

The phrase Jon has the North in him is off Tyrion's comment to Jon Snow in their first meeting. I know that Tyrion was freed to bring a proposal to his father, and that Joffrey killed Ned Stark before that he returned to the Lannister camp. (Chap 15) But Sansa doesn't see it that way. She thinks the Lannisters are all liars, and dishonorable. Which actually is less fair to Tyrion and Jaime, the ones with the worst reputations, and correct for Tywin, Cersei and Joffrey.

The first chapter of A Storm of Swords features Jaime on the run. Catelyn, with a sword at Jaime's heart, makes him swear oaths. Everyone makes a big deal about Jaime's redemption and giving Oathkeeper to Brienne. But in the book. Jaime also swears to never take arms against Stark and Tully. One book later, he is sieging Riverrun and threatening to kill Edmure's son. So - broken oath there. Of course, you have to wonder how valid an oath at swordpoint is.

The same chapter where Catelyn tells Robb that she freed Jaime Lannister, Robb tells her he married Jeyne Westerling. So it is a clusterfuck of enormous proportions. And people say this story has too many weird assumptions. The North basically blows themselves apart in a single chapter - along with many terrible decisions - Robett Glover invading the Crownlands, Robb trusting Roose's bastard with taking back Winterfell. It is basically a huge disaster, and it is a credit to GRRM's writing that we don't think the passage of Robb spouting off on love's not wise and we must follow our hearts isn't completely moronic. First of all, he knew Jeyne for about a week or so. Second, he says these ridiculous words in front of the Northern army commanders. It is like a Harlequin passage, except terrible things will happen. Robb's reaction is different here. He realizes that the Kingslayer will cost him the respect of his men - certainly Karstark.

**_"There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, can lead to victory."_ **This is a quote from Julius Caesar where Brutus argues they should march to Phillipi to fight Marc Anthony and Octavian. The ironic thing is that in this case, this was the wrong advice. Jon knows he is throwing the dice, but he wants to seize the day and press on the attack. He fears that there will be more breakdowns in the army, and other traitors. Robb worries about Sansa's fate, and knows the battle will be uncertain. He will be outnumbered and on enemy terrain.

The complete quote comes from Clausewitz, a Prussian general. **_"The end for which a soldier is recruited, clothed, armed and trained, the whole objective of his sleeping, eating, drinking and marching is that he should fight at the right place and the right time."_** This is an extremely useful lense to analyze why people won or loss, despite numbers and terrains. It helps to explain why Alexander the Great, Hannibal, Caesar and the Mongols consistently beat the odds.

In the books, Jaime is in chains when released. But that means he literally has to make a trip over five hundred miles of war torn land in chains. And he can still kill Brienne anyway. He just needs to wrap the chains around her throat and strangle her. So if you are going to travel that far, you might as well have him unchained. This isn't Midnight Run.

There is this notion that people do not fear Tywin because he lost a few battles. That might be true if you have no memory of the Sack. But I see Tywin as the ruler who would rather destroy his kingdom than lose power. Even in a corner, he is dangerous. So until he is dead and buried, you would be a fool to underestimate him. And that is something anybody who lives close to King's Landing would understand.

I am never quite sure what GRRM thinks knighthood. Brienne is the closest to the true knight archetype and yet, she is quite naive. She is clever enough to avoid the obvious traps, but almost Sansa like in clinging to her oaths. And it is funny in a sense - she is sworn to protect Sansa and Arya - but, Arya does everything herself. Sansa is freed by Theon.

The quote is from Ulysses Grant. _**"In every battle, there comes a time when both sides consider themselves beaten, then he who continues the attack wins."** _Of course, there is more to that - the North became experts at the art of the indirect attack by the end of the war.

I reread some of the chapters around the release of Jaime. There were many signs that the Northern efforts were falling apart. Some of that came from Roose Bolton - he sent infantry under Robett Glover into a disastrous attack at Duskendale. It is hinted that Tywin Lannister had full knowledge of the troop movements from Bolton.

The treason quote comes from the Storm of Swords after Rickard Karstark has killed Willem Lannister and Tion Frey and several guards. It is not clear to me how soon Lord Karstark killed the prisoners after Catelyn fesses up to freeing the Kingslayer. By then, Karstark men had already left to search for Jaime Lannister.

The fundamental point is that the decision to free Jaime Lannister destroyed the discipline of the Northern army. You can certainly argue that with Roose and Walder plotting, that discipline was already in the crapper - along with Robb sleeping with Jeyne/Talisa, but a poorly disciplined army is a failed one.


	29. Partings

**Partings**

Arya Stark did not like the Freys. Bad enough that they abandoned her brothers before the Battle of the God's Eye. But what made it worse was their return after the battle, proclaiming that they were still faithful to the Northern army. She snorted. It was obvious where their true loyalties lied. Gold - the ransom had arrived from Highgarden, wagons and wagons loaded with chests brimming with gold dragons.

And with that gold, had somehow come the Freys - two dozen of Lord Walder's sons and grandsons and a thousand more men at arms. The Blackfish told Arya that Walder Frey's descendants looked like weasels - chinless and snot-nosed but they were more akin to rats, with beady eyes and grasping claws. She caught them sneaking about, sniffing for the gold, like rats hunting for holes to a sealed granary. The gold was locked away in her brother's tent, guarded by loyal Northmen. Jon's boys had marked and stored away the ransom with the record of who fought in the great battle. There were few Freys on that list.

The leader of the supposedly repentant Freys was not fat Ryman or the bellicose Black Walder. It was a plump short man with a fleshy round face and narrow close set eyes, and a pointed beard that matched his mop of dark curly hair. Lame Lothar had a twisted leg but smiled and fawned amiably. Lothar was Walder Frey's steward and had ridden several hundred miles with a bum leg to wheedle his way into Robb's favor. Lothar would have fit well at King's Landing.

Arya would have been happy to send all the Freys back to the Twins with their tails between their legs. House Tully though could not. Edmure needed allies if he wanted to protect his lands, and his most loyal bannermen, the Pipers, Vances and Blackwoods, had suffered heavy losses. The Freys had the most soldiers left, and they knew it.

"Lord Stark, the Lord of the Twins, bids me to greet you warmly and offer congratulations on your great victory." Lothar began.

"Get on with it. What does Frey want?" The Blackfish barked.

"A closer alliance and rewards for our house's bravery in battle." Lothar said.

"Your men disappeared before the last battle. And Lord Walder swore an oath to the Tullys. Why do we need an alliance for what you have already pledged?" Robb said.

"Lord Walder swore an oath to Hoster Tully. And my house has seen precious little reward in this war. No lands, no honors. We fought for you at the Whispering Wood, Riverrun, Oxcross and the Trident. When the war ends, what will we have gained? Nothing but the anger of the Iron Throne." Lothar said.

"You will have defended the Riverlands from invaders - just like every other house in the Riverlands. You will have fought for your liege lord." the Blackfish said.

Of the Freys in the tent, only Stevron and Lothar did not sneer at the Blackfish's words. Lame Lothar continued without shame. "Lord Walder wishes more tangible rewards. Some of the gold from the Reach can be sent to the Twins for our efforts."

"No." Jon spoke up. "The ransom is for those who fought at the God's Eye."

"But thousands of men died there. They do not need any reward. Surely, that gold can be given to swords that can fight, not those who fell." Lothar said.

"You would rob the dead?" The Greatjon said.

"Brave men and women died at the God's Eye. That gold will go to their lands and heirs. They deserve the glory and the rewards of battle." Jon said.

"You need our swords, Lord Stark. My father can send you two thousand men. Or he can call back the thousand that fought with you at the God's Eye. The choice is yours." Lothar said.

"Will those men disappear before the next battle?" The Greatjon japed. "Or will they drop their swords and run when the Mountain charges?"

"Our men fight as well as any Umber." Black Walder said. "Swords can cut down giants."

"You need a bigger sword, Frey." The Smalljon said. "In the North, we don't like cowards. And we hate oathbreakers."

Robb banged his fist on the table. "Enough, Sers. The Tyrell gold will not be sent to the Twins. What else does your father wish for?"

"A marriage. Ties between House Frey and House Stark. You are unmarried, my Lord, as are your brothers and sisters. The best alliances are sealed by betrothals." Lothar said.

"My father said we find our true friends on the battlefield." Robb Stark said. "House Frey failed me at the God's Eye. I will not marry into your house."

Lothar pursed his lips. For the first time, he could not hide his displeasure. "Then you leave us very little choice, Lord Stark."

"But there is another great house present. House Tully. My uncle is Lord of Riverrun. He might accept a betrothal. Negotiate with him, Ser." Robb said.

Arya realized that the Tullys had been prepared for this possibility. They were far from happy but no surprise appeared on either the Blackfish or Edmure's face.

"Very well. I will inform my father." Lothar said.

The Freys were not pleased. But then again, neither were the Tullys. An unpleasant affair but Arya expected that of most marriages, particularly any with a Frey.

* * *

Jaime Lannister crossed the Iron Gate into King's Landing. A dozen heads rotted on top of the spikes - old men with antlers nailed to their sides, like butchered stags. His family had been busy. Forty red cloaks flanked him with the Mountain leading the way. Clegane had been dispatched to Maidenpool to retrieve him with loyal Lannister guards. The Mountain's Men were nowhere to be seen and Jaime was glad for that. Clegane's soldiers were hard to control and would have happily sacked Maidenpool and raped anyone they found, boy or girl. Without full plate armor and longsword, Jaime doubted he could control the Mountain.

He kept Brienne close to his side. The wench had more loyalty than sense, and she insisted that she remained by his side until Sansa Stark returned to her Lady mother. Brienne eyed the Mountain warily, hand on her sword and ready to raise her shield, emblazoned with the two yellow suns and two white crescent moons of House Tarth. She might have been strong but Ser Gregor was stronger. The Mountain was nearly eight feet high, broad as an ox, and wickedly fast. Jaime's head only came up to the massive armored shoulders. Jaime wondered how to face Clegane, if it ever came down to battle between the two. He would aim at the hands. Clegane wore thick gauntlets that protected fingers to forearm. But only the top had steel while the palm had leather. Most men would find it hard to attack the inside palm but not Jaime. He had no doubt he could slice through the fingers from below.

Jaime would rather fight the Mountain a dozen times than speak with his brother. The news that Tysha had a son with golden hair and green eyes was a disaster beyond belief. He would have to tell Tyrion that she was truly a crofter's daughter,not a whore. He would have to admit that his father ordered him to lie, so Tysha could be taken over and over before Tyrion's eyes. And he would have to tell Tyrion that he had a son, a boy as clever as any maester. Gerion Lannister was the rightful heir to Casterly Rock and his mother had been raped by a hundred soldiers on his grandfather's orders. The gods had a wicked sense of humor.

But before he did that, he would need to bathe and wash to get the stink of the road off. After he was clean, he would see his father. He had to be a lion.

An hour later, Jaime made his way past the Iron Throne to the king's audience chamber. His father held court there, surrounded by guards, maesters, servants and bootlickers. He ignored Pycelle and Vylarr. Lord Tywin sat at a great oak table, surrounded by candles and parchment. A wax seal with a rampant golden lion covered the pile of messages. His father had been busy fighting the war, not with swords and spears, but ravens and quills.

"Jaime." His father looked up after finishing the letter. "You are wearing your white armor." The distaste was clear in Lord Tywin's voice

"I lost my red and gold suit in the Riverlands. Snow used it as a teapot." Jaime said.

"Why is that woman still with you?" Tywin asked.

"Who - Brienne? She is Lady Catelyn's sworn sword." Jaime said.

"I know who she is. She is the only child of Selwyn Tarth, Lord of Evenfall. But why allow her to come to King's Landing? She could be a spy for the Starks, or carry a message for Sansa."

"Brienne - a spy? She lacks the wits. All she cares about is honor and her vows." Jaime said.

"Honor is a fool's prize. It dragged Ned Stark down to his death." Tywin snorted.

"I swore a vow. I pledged to Lady Stark that her daughter Sansa would be returned safe to the North." Jaime said.

"You vowed that she would be returned. I did not. I wrote only that Sansa Stark would not be harmed if you were freed. She remains as our guest." Tywin said.

"Our hostage - But why? She will not marry Joffrey. She is the oldest girl but she will never be the heir. Everyone knows that the bastard is next in line to Robb Stark." Jaime said.

"Men die in war. An arrow to the eye. A wound that festers. A fall from a horse. Robb Stark and Jon Snow seek glory in fighting. Glory is no use to dead men." Tywin said.

"I promised that Sansa Stark would be freed. I was freed. She should be as well. " Jaime said, ignoring his father's glare. He was a man of three and thirty. He did not fear his father.

"You wish to keep your vow to Lady Stark?" Jaime nodded to his father's question. "Then hand in your white cloak and take your place at Casterly Rock. You will marry Sansa Stark and father children on her. She will give me proper grandchildren. Then she can leave King's Landing."

"What? Why?" Jaime yelled.

"Sansa Stark is one of the few women suitable for your betrothal. Margaery Tyrell and Arianne Martel are the others, but Highgarden insists that their rose be queen and the Dornish do not like lions. I will die one day. Your brother will never rule over the Rock, and neither will Tommen or any nephew or cousin." Tywin said.

"The Starks will never agree to that. You promised that Sansa would be unharmed." Jaime said.

"And she won't be. It is a good match, better than any she could ever hope for. We are the most powerful family in the Seven Kingdoms. Her children would rule over the Westerlands. Their nephews would hold the Iron Throne. House Lannister will be a dynasty for the next thousand years." Tywin said.

"What do they say about the North? Oh, right. The North remembers - Sansa Stark won't forget that we beheaded her father." Jaime said.

"Joffrey Baratheon killed Ned Stark, not House Lannister." Tywin said.

"And you think that makes it easier that my sister's son took Ned Stark's head? She will hate us forever." Jaime said.

"Her feelings do not matter. Orys Baratheon killed the Storm King and wedded his only daughter. He had two sons that continued his line." Tywin said.

"A song the bards sing. The King's Stump and the Storm Queen. How do you think their marriage truly was? Colder than the Wall, no doubt. I would rather not be murdered in my sleep." Jaime said.

"Who cares about the marriage? Your son will rule the Rock. Your grandson may sit on the Iron Throne." Tywin said.

"I do not want the Rock, father. I do not want the Throne. I am Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I swore to protect the king with all my strength, to give my blood for him and his." Jaime said. He had failed at his oath with Aegon and Rhaenys.

"You have served three kings. A madman, a drunk, and now Joffrey. I am not sure who was the worst. You have wasted your time as a glorified bodyguard to a pack of idiots." Tywin said.

"Perhaps, but it is my life and my choice. I am a knight of the Kingsguard. That's all I have ever wanted to be. To fight for the good of the realm." Jaime said.

Tywin snorted derisively. "There is no good of the realm. That is merely a fool's dream. There is only those who rule and those who are ruled. You have a duty to House Lannister. You are the heir of Casterly Rock. If you wish to protect Sansa Stark, you could marry her and take her away. In time, your children might even mend our quarrel with the North."

"No, father. I will not do it." Jaime said. "Robb Stark and Jon Snow are not green boys. The bastard burnt Roose Bolton alive for treachery. I remember Aerys burning men with wildfire. What do you think they will do to the man Sansa Stark is forced to marry?"

"I will deal with the wolves." Tywin said. "All you need to do is put a babe into the girl."

Jaime shook his head. He had soiled his name and cloak with the blood of a king, his failure to protect Rhaegar's children, and cuckolding the Usurper. But he still wore the white cloak. He had made his vows to the Iron Throne. He would not bow to his father's wishes.

"Very well, Ser." Tywin said with cold disdain. "If you will not do your duty, others shall. Send in your brother." And Jaime suddenly understood that things had gotten worse.

* * *

Alleras sipped the sour house wine, weak red water from the Reach, at the Blushing Maiden halfway between the harbor and the Street of Steel. She had always preferred the sweet liquor of the Summer Isles even more than Dornish strongwine. The Blushing Maiden was an oddity in King's Landing. It was neither a winesink nor a brothel and catered to those who sailed the seas. Traders, sea captains and merchants enjoyed a drink in the bustling inn, far away from the fetid odors of the docks.

Her father and sisters were still ten days away, trudging through the kingswood. Alleras had taken a smuggler's ship from Planky Town to Driftmark. There, at the town of Hull, she hired a Lyseni trade ship to sail to King's Landing with barrels of black tar rum and casks of spiced exotic foods. In truth, the food was salt cured beef and the rum vile to anyone not a sailor but a merchant without goods would stick out like a giant at the docks. Her father warned her that King's Landing swarmed with spies, and that the Spider always listened from the shadows.

"The Kingslayer came through the Iron Gate this morning. He was accompanied by the Mountain and a giant woman." a weathered and sunburnt captain said.

"They say the Northmen search for Jaime Lannister. How long before they attack King's Landing?" A tall gaunt man in purple robes trimmed with ermine asked with only a faint accent. Braavosi, Alleras thought. The dark saturnine eyes roved around the room.

"Not soon. Otherwise the sellswords would spend all their coin." a fat Pentoshi with a dozen jeweled rings on stubby fingers said. "I will leave this wretched city before the Northmen come."

Alleras stood up, smoothed down her green brigandine jack, and approached the trio. "Sers - what news of the Riverlands?"

"No news since the battle. Since they slaughtered the Reachmen, the Northern army just sits at the God's Eye, waiting." the captain said.

"I hear the Tyrells paid them a fortune in gold. A million gold dragons to not kill their men. They should have paid the price before the battle" The Pentoshi chortled.

"Why do you ask, young one?" The thin man said.

"I wish to sell my goods on the Blackwater. Are there any ships that can take me?" she asked.

"Are you mad? The lands between here and the God's Eye are empty. Only sparrows would dare face the Northmen." the Pentoshi said.

"Sparrows?" Alleras asked.

"Godly men who saw the Riverlands plundered and pillaged. They carry the bones and skulls of murdered septons and begging brothers to King's Landing. Thousands of small folk, chirping for the hundreds of thousands who suffered in the war." The thin man said.

"Fanatics drunk on the Seven. They walk between here and the God's Eye, preaching about sins and wickedness." the Pentoshi sneered.

"Do sparrows fight with or against the Northmen?" Alleras said.

"Some fight for the Starks. Others say the Northmen are heretics who will sack the Great Sept. They are on Cobbler's Square preaching and chanting." the thin man said.

Alleras bought a round of drinks and slipped a stag into the wench's sweaty hand. She waited for a beat, and then left the Blushing Maiden. Minutes later, the Braavosi followed. Silent as a specter, she edged past the gold cloaks patrolling the Great Sept. The guardsmen thumped their short spears on stone to discourage the men lurking around the white marble building. The men were boney faced and barefoot, garbed in homespun brown and dun garment belted with hempen rope, a stark contrast to the plump white robed septons waddling up and down Visenya's Hill. There was trouble brewing with the Faith of the Seven. Even a blind man could smell that in the strange mix of dirt, sweat and perfume wafting through the plaza.

She stopped and ducked behind three plaster statues, worn down by bad weather and gray smog. Alleras only recognized Septon Barth who gave the realms forty years of peace as the Hand. She had walked up the hill, and then would head down through alleys and back streets to to Cobbler's Square. Alleras looked around carefully, and decided that there were no spies behind her. She did not know the Braavosi hid behind a large pillar. She waited for the guards to make a full circle before she left the Sept.

Alleras smelled Cobbler's Square even before she heard the loud bickering voices. An angry sparrow harangued hundreds of smallfolk, declaring that godless heretics and demon worshippers were to blame for all their misfortunes. The diatribe was interrupted by the hissing of other men, some with rainbow cloaks and rainbow swords on their shields. A large clump of dung flew through the air and hit the preacher flush in the face. The screed stopped, to be replaced by a scrum of pushing and shoving sparrows.

"Why are they fighting?" she asked the septon standing next to a donkey laden with turnips and beans. He was tall, even hunched over, with leathery hands and bare weathered feet.

"Why does any man fight?" the stooped man said.

"The will of the Seven." Alleras snarked.

"The Seven have very little to do with it. Men fight for a lord who does not know their names, for reasons they do not understand, and for a spit of land they and their masters will never hold. Men go off believing in songs only to find misery. Better to stay at home with their sheep and goats. " the septon said.

"I am not asking why all men fight. Why do those two?" Alleras said, pointing at the septon with the cow patty still smeared to his face, and a bellicose knight facing him.

"Septon Moon claims that Jon Snow is a sorcerer who uses magic to beguile and corrupt men. The knight, Ser Raymund Mallory, thinks Septon Moon is full of shit, which is why he threw the cow dung at his face. Mallory fought with the wolves in the Riverlands. The knight says the only demons are the Lannisters."

"And he is still alive? I doubt the Lannisters like his words." Alleras said.

"Half the city hates the Lannisters. The other half believe Tywin Lannister is the only man stopping the Starks from coming to King's Landing and murdering them in their sleep."

Alleras bit back a response. Tywin Lannister had done that exact thing. He ordered his men to sack the city, dragging women from their beds and murdering children. Unlike King's Landing, Dorne had not forgotten. "And what does Septon Moon plan to do besides rant in a square?"

"The fool means to confront Snow. He intends to march with a band of Poor Fellows and demand that the wolves use no more sorcery."

"Perhaps I can help him in his crusade."

Alleras found the rabble rouser after the brawl ended. The preacher was surrounded by a coterie of hedge knights with seven pointed stars tattooed on their faces. Moon was a large man with a fat face and a loud voice. He had wiped away the cow patty from his beard, but still smelled of shit. Then again, most sparrows stunk. Alleras touched the figurine in the doeskin pouch. Before she could take it out, they saw her.

"Who are you?" Septon Moon said.

"Mysaria. A trader from Lys who hates wizards." Alleras answered.

"Lys? I thought all of the men of Lys had pale skin and gold hair." Moon said.

"That is what the magisters would have the bards believe. But Lys was found on trade, not pleasure gardens." Alleras said.

"And what do you want - Mysaria from Lys?" the septon said.

"I have encountered wizards before in Essos. Even those who use the darkest sorcery. I hear you mean to confront this Jon Snow." Alleras said. The man nodded stupidly, like a boar about to be speared. "How will you defeat his magic?"

"The Father will provide. We have faith." the giant man thundered.

And Jon Snow has brains. You will be in chains before you get a thousand feet near him, Alleras thought. "In Lys, we have to protect ourselves from warlocks of Qarth and the bloodmages from the East." She took out the figurine. "This will give you protection from spells."

Moon grabbed the golden wood carving in his meaty hands. The creature had a woman's face and breasts, the body of a lion, wings of a hawk, and the tail of a serpent. "What is this thing?"

"A sphinx. In Essos, a Valyrian sphinx can protect you from black magic." Alleras said.

"Truly - from spells? They say that Bastard of Winterfell can summon storms and control wolves. That is how he defeated the Lannisters and the Tyrells." Moon said.

"Take the sphinx. But be sure the Northmen know that you were blessed by a sphinx in King's Landing. Tell Snow the sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler. He will know what those words mean." Alleras said.

"Aye. I will march to the God's Eye and confront this wizard. He will be pissing in his breeches when he sees me." the big septon laughed to the delight of his followers.

Alleras smiled. If anyone pissed out of fear, it would not be Jon Snow. Her work was done. Moon and his lackeys would deliver the words.

* * *

Arya resisted the urge to punch her brother in the chest. For one, she was not a little girl visiting the crypts of Winterfell for the first time, when Jon, covered in flour, pretended to be a ghost moaning for blood. How they had all laughed at the prank - Jon and Robb, and then Bran and Arya. Sansa had run shrieking for the stairs. It was one of her fondest memories, and always brought a smile to her face. She needed that today to salve her frustration.

She waited to speak to him. Lines of prisoners were scattered about, waiting to board the riverboats on the shore of the God's Eye. Smallfolk, eager to earn coin, swarmed over the ships, fixing sails, loading provisions, and repairing decks for the trip south to the Blackwater Rush. Arya glared, and Jon, aware of his sister's scowl, dismissed the boys to their work and made his way over, Ghost by his side.

"You look angry." he said, with a wisp of a smile.

"What are you doing?" Arya said pointedly.

Jon quirked his eyebrows and gestured to the dozens of boats serviced by the Winter Town boys and the villagers. "There are thousands of prisoners. Some can head south on foot or horse, but it would be better to send many by the river. They can disembark near Tumbleton or continue on to King's Landing."

"That's not what I mean." Arya hissed. "Why aren't we doing anything about Sansa? Why don't you convince Robb to march into the crownlands?"

"And do what? Even with the Karstarks, we had only ten thousand men. King's Landing has high walls, and the Red Keep even higher ones. Marching is no good if it leads to defeat."

"We have to free Sansa. We can't leave her in that hell hole." Arya said stubbornly.

"I take it you don't think Jaime Lannister will keep his oath."

Arya snorted. "Do you believe that? I have met Cersei and Tywin Lannister. The whole family is rotten. Joffrey ordered Sansa beaten by his guards even when the Kingslayer was a prisoner. What will they do to her now?"

Jon sighed. "Nothing good. But we would need a much larger army to storm the city. Or…." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Arya, how well do you know the Red Keep?"

"Well enough. I don't know all the guard towers but the castle is smaller than Winterfell. We stayed in the Tower of the Hand for four moons, before Robert Baratheon's death." Arya said.

"They killed Lord Stark three moons later. How did you escape the Red Keep? And where did you stay for that time?" Jon asked.

Arya's eyes turned wet. "The queen sent guards to capture me. Syrio Forel, my dancing master, held them off. He only had a wooden sword, and it was useless against Meryn Trant's plate armor. Syrio told me to run. I fled into the tunnels under the castle. There are lots of them and they led me to Flea Bottom. I found my way by following a path that led me past a skull of the dragon, the biggest one I could ever imagine."

"When the Targaryens ruled, the dragon skulls were hung on the walls of the Throne Room. And the greatest was Balerion the Black. They say his jaw was large enough to swallow an Ibbenese mammoth and his teeth longer than a bastard sword. Robert Baratheon must have moved the skulls into the cellars." Jon mused.

"I begged for food in Flea Bottom. But at night, I returned to the tunnels. I felt safer there than in the streets of the city." Arya said.

"Weren't you concerned the guards would search for you under the castle?" Jon said.

Arya shook her head. "The tunnels stretch forever and in many directions. It would be easy to get lost. Without the chamber with the dragon skulls, I would have never found my way out. Some are so small that you have to crawl on your hands and knees. I only knew one passage well and there are dozens." Her brother's eyes narrowed in deep thought. "What are you thinking, Jon? Do you have a plan?"

"A glimmer. A shadow of a plan." Jon scratched his cheek. "I need more time to think it through. A few men might do what an army could not."

* * *

"He is trying to kill me." Tyrion slammed down the silver goblet on the table and proceeded to drink directly from the decanter of sweetwine. The purple drops stained the necklace of linked golden hands.

"It's not even noon. Do you really need to drink so much?" Jaime complained. The two brothers had walked back to the Tower of the Hand after the conference with their Lord Father.

"The wine helps him think." A wiry black haired man said.

"And who are you?" Jaime asked.

"Bronn, my lord. I am the Hand's sworn sword."

"Any good with the blade?" Jaime said, looking at the well oiled longsword and short dirk, hanging from Bronn's belt.

"Your brother's alive, isn't he?" The sellsword smirked. "It wasn't easy to keep him that way."

"Thanks to my father, I won't be alive for much longer." Tyrion guzzled down the Arbor Gold. "The Starks are going to kill me."

"The Starks are not monsters. Perhaps if you promise not to touch her after the marriage, and you spoke to Robb Stark and explained that father had forced you…" Jaime said.

Tyrion gawked at Jaime, too shocked to even continue drinking. "Did you lose your wits along with your freedom in the Riverlands?"

"Robb Stark and Jon Snow will listen to reason. If Sansa Stark's maidenhead remains intact, they will still welcome her return." Jaime said.

Tyrion smacked his forehead with the hand not gripping the wine. "Jaime, why does Father want a marriage with Sansa Stark? It is not for my happiness or hers. He wants Winterfell."

"But, even if Robb Stark died, there would be other heirs." Jaime said, perplexed.

"Our father plans to kill every male Stark. Robb Stark's death would not be enough. Jon Snow, and the two younger brothers would have to die as well. Tell me, how will Sansa Stark feel after the Lannisters kill all her brothers? Do you think she will be happy? Married to the son of the man who murdered her family?" Tyrion said.

"Your father might not succeed. These Starks seem hard to kill." Bronn said. "And Jon Snow and Robb Stark have defied the odds before. The wolves beat the Lannisters at the Trident and the roses at the lake."

"Even better." Tyrion groaned. "If my father fails to kill the Starks, Sansa's brothers will kill me. They will chop off my head or starve me to death in a gibbet."

"I doubt they will kill you so quickly. The word is that Snow likes to torture his enemies. He will probably break your arms and legs first or gouge out your eyes. They say he chopped off some mighty lord's hand for talking back. Although maybe he cuts off your cock and sends it to your father." Bronn grinned.

"Sansa Stark is a child half my age. There are plenty of whores in King's Landing that won't cost me an eye, a hand, or a cock." Tyrion retorted. "Podrick, bring me more wine. I need to be drunk before I inform Sansa of the betrothal. I hope for her sake that she is a fool."

"Why? And why do you need to be drunk?" Jaime said.

The Imp turned to his brother with mismatched eyes of green and black. "Because then she will not realize our father's plan. She won't know that the Lannisters want to claim Winterfell in her name, and that she is a pawn in the plot to murder her family. Better for her to have a head full of silly songs and curse that I am not the Knight of Flowers than to know that she is the reason why her brothers must die. Our father means to write another Rains of Castamere. I hope to spare her of those thoughts until the deed is done. Or until the wolves take my head. Better to be a little fool than see the truth." And Tyrion drank more wine.

* * *

Arya had not spoken much with the healer from Volantis. Tending to the wounded and dying gave Talisa Maegyr a cool and unruffled demeanour. Unlike the others in the tent, she stayed composed when faced with bad news. Her presence kept Robb calm, a welcome contrast from the angry Northerners and confused Rivermen. Jon showed little emotion, but his eyes had turned dark, almost a deep purple in the fading afternoon light.

"Are you certain, Ser Raymund?" The Blackfish's voice boomed over the angry whispers.

"Aye. The story spread like wildfire through the city. Tyrion Lannister will marry Sansa Stark in the Red Keep. They say Lord Tywin ordered it when he found the Imp in bed with the girl." The knight stammered and avoided Robb's glare.

"This is an outrage, my Lord." A Manderly brother fumed.

A tall proud man with grey brown hair stood up. The mailed fist on scarlet identified him as a Glover. "Lord Stark, let me avenge House Stark. I will march our forces against the Crownlands, and sack Duskendale."

"And how will that save Sansa?" Jon asked.

"We have to punish the Imp." Robett Glover roared. "He spits on the North. He has escaped Lady Stark's justice at the Eyrie, he broke the oath he swore at Riverrun, and now he means to take Lady Sansa's virtue."

"I doubt the Lannisters care much about Duskendale. And if we march our troops to King's Landing, that would hasten the betrothal, not prevent it. Assuming that Tywin Lannister does not set a trap on the kingsroad or near Rosby." Jon said.

"The insult must be answered." Glover said.

"Not by losing our men. We must keep our heads clear. Ser Raymund, when is the wedding?" Jon said.

"In a fortnight." the knight replied.

"I wish to save my sister. But my brother is right. We cannot rush into a trap. My duty is to House Stark, and I will not be fooled by Lord Tywin." Robb said.

The tent flaps opened, and a Vale knight dragged forth a swarthy bearded brute of a man. He was dressed in the plain brown robes of a septon but an ugly spiked club was strapped to a leather belt. A sword was pointed at the burly neck, and blood could be seen on the man's ham like fists. "I found this man and a band of Poor Fellows wandering about the camp." Ser Mychel Redfort said

"That is Septon Moon. I saw him preaching in King's Landing. He is a rabble rouser and a fool." Ser Raymund declared with distaste.

"Which one of you is Jon Snow?" Moon thundered.

"Why do you ask about my brother?" Robb replied.

"Because he is a devil worshiper and a heretic. I mean to defeat his vile sorcery." The man roared as he stood, and his head scraped against the top of the tent.

"And how do you plan to do that?" an amused Jon asked.

"With this." The man took out from his pouch a small wooden figurine. Arya craned her neck to get a better look. The intricate carving was shaped like a woman squatting in hands and knees with the body of a lion and the wings of a hawk. "The sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler." Septon Moon cackled, thrusting the strange object forward like a holy symbol.

Jon's eyes narrowed. "Who gave you that?"

"A trader from Lys. He said the sphinx would protect me from your spells." Moon said, the tremor of doubt clear in his loud voice.

"A young man with light brown skin the color of ale and curly dark brown hair?" Jon asked.

"You are a sorcerer!" Moon's eyes bulged.

"If I was a sorcerer, I would not need you to bring me this message." Jon snatched the wooden figurine. "I know the riddle of the sphinx. The Lannisters do not."

"Enough, Sers. Disarm this man and send him away. Ser Raymund, thank you for the news." Robb ordered. "Now, my lords, I ask your leave."

"But Lord Stark, what of Lady Sansa? What can we do?" Robett Glover asked. .

"We can do nothing, Glover. Marching on King's Landing will not save my sister." Robb said.

"But.. but…."

"Enough." Robb stood up, silencing the grumbling. "I am the Lord of Winterfell, and this is my decision. I will not waste lives on a fool's errand."

The tent emptied and Arya followed Jon out. The sphinx had disappeared from his hand.

* * *

Arya had no stomach for dinner that night. She stayed with her dire wolf at the edge of the lake. Nymeria had grown sleek and grey and huge - her head taller than most horses in the camp. She had no fear of steel and fire and backed down to no one, not even her brothers. Arya wished she was as strong and fierce as her wolf. She practiced the water dance under the moonlight.

Nymeria caught the scent first, sniffing the darkness until red eyes and pale white fur emerged. The white wolf waited patiently until Arya sheathed both Needle and Gram. Ghost led them away, and the two wolves slipped past Robb's guards with ease.

Jon, silent as his wolf, put a finger on his lips, and Arya went to his side quietly. The sentries escorted a man in a brown tunic with a red apple on gold sigil into the tent. Arya had seen Owen Fossoway around the camp with the Reachmen. Robb motioned him to sit and the Stark guards left, far enough that no conversation could be heard. "How is your father?" Robb asked.

'He is well, my lord. I thank you for allowing Jon to tend to his fever. He has recovered fully."

"You can thank Jon himself." Robb said and his brother came out from the shadows. The stocky man's face broke into a wide smile.

Jon shrugged. "It was nothing, but I have something I need to ask. I need your aid."

"Anything, Jon. You have helped me out many times at the Citadel."

"This is not a small request, Owen. I will understand if you say no. And the treatment of your father and the other prisoners from the Reach will not change if you decline."

"What do you need?" Owen's smile was replaced by a look of earnest determination.

"In a fortnight, the Iron Throne intends to marry Sansa Stark to Tyrion Lannister. That will not happen. I plan to take Sansa from King's Landing." Jon said.

"But….. " Owen's face scrunched up in concern. "She is well guarded. Sansa Stark is in the Tower of the Hand, and I am sure she is watched by the Imp's guards, Tywin Lannister's spies, and even the Kingsguard."

"No one said it would be easy." There was a faint smile on Jon's face.

Robb threw up his hands. "It's a crazy idea. And I think my brother is insane. But he believes that with the right team, he can steal Sansa from the Lannisters."

"The right team?" Owen asked, puzzled.

Jon placed down the wooden carving. "Alleras is in King's Landing. But I need your help. I need you to act as my eyes and ears in the Red Keep, and your silence. You cannot say anything to the Tyrells, and you will have to help on the day of the wedding."

Owen goggled. "You mean to take her then? But that's when she will be watched the most!"

"But also when the Keep will be the most crowded. There will be many visitors, guests and guards at the castle. And Sansa will be on the move." Jon said.

Owen nodded. "If anyone can pull this off…. Alright, Jon. We have been friends for a long time, and you have never let me down. I will do whatever I can to help you rescue your sister. But... I have two requests. I won't tell anyone but the Fossoways are bannermen to the Tyrells. I cannot stand by if you plan to kill any Tyrells or other Reachmen."

"Very well. No roses will be harmed." Jon said. "And the second request?"

Owen stroked his cheek deep in thought. "You have done some strange and astonishing things. Some day I will ask you for a favor. And you must swear to repay that debt. I promise it will be nothing that will harm the Starks."

"Done. You have my word - and my thanks."

Owen smiled as they clasped hands. "We are friends for life, Jon. I am happy to fight on your side. I never liked the Lannisters anyway."

"We leave for King's Landing tomorrow night." Jon said and bade Owen good night.

As soon as he left, she sprang out from hiding. "I am coming too, Jon." Arya said. "You won't leave me behind."

Jon chuckled and rubbed her hair fondly. "Of course you are, little sister." Robb only shook his head in dismay.

* * *

Crows and ravens cawed and croaked near the gold tinted window. Darkness had fallen over the city but torches and lanterns flickered in the towers of the Red Keep. Sansa wondered if the birds also stared at the comet burning in the night, the color of blood and flame and sunset, and brighter than the moon. Maester Luwin had spoken of stars with tails lost in the heavens but Old Nan would have scoffed. A red star burned in the sky three hundred years before, a year before Aegon and his sister wives had conquered Westeros. Sansa wondered if a dragon would fly again over Kings Landing.

Sansa Stark looked down from the high window. The Tower of the Hand stood alone at the western edge of Aegon's Hill, away from the massive drum towers crowned with iron ramparts and bristling with catapults that guarded the Blackwater Rush and Bay. A somber Tyrion told her two nights ago of the wedding, jesting that he would be the Florian to her Jonquil. He promised to treat her well. Sansa curtsied and bowed and accepted his false promises. But she knew. She was not a fool like Florian.

Tyrion was a liar. He might have been Hand of the King but true power was held by Lord Tywin. The Lannister army kept Joffrey on the Iron Throne, and there was only one reason Tywin would want this marriage - for the Lannisters to claim Winterfell. But that could only happen if Robb was killed, and Jon, and Bran, and Rickon. The Lannisters might even murder her mother. So long as she was wedded to a Lannister, the threat to her family was real. Even if the Starks retreated North, Lord Tywin would send assassins to push a claim to the North in her name.

Sansa stared at the ground, one hundred and fifty feet away. It would only hurt for a short time, she thought. She would fly through the air like a bird until hitting the bailey below. And she would see Lady again and her Lord father. Would he forgive her? Would he absolve her betrayal of his plan to the Queen? She had been in love with the pageantry of the court, the lords and ladies glittering in silks and velvets and gems, the tournaments and the fine feasts. All it had cost was Ned Stark's head, her freedom and a war that consumed the Riverlands.

Sansa leaned forward, her hands grasping the cold stone. Her mother would be sad, but Arya and her brothers would understand. She would see Father soon.

"Stop, little bird." A rough voice rasped behind her.

"Why should I?" Sansa said. "What is left for me here?"

Sandor Clegane grunted. "The little lord is not the worst of the monsters here. He won't beat you." Sansa stepped her right foot onto the window. "And you will never get revenge."

"My brothers will do that for me. They will take Joffrey's head if they reach King's Landing." Sansa said.

"Maybe, or they might go back North. The wolves have won the battles but lost many men. And it is hard to breach the city walls. Only one way to be sure about revenge. To get it yourself." Sandor said.

Sansa turned to her bodyguard. "What would you know about revenge?"

Clegane laughed like a snarling dog trapped in a pit. He pointed at the left side of his face - cracks on his cheek of dead black flesh, a mass of scars around his left eye, and burns that reached from his ears to his throat. "My brother did this to me when I was seven. The village woodcarver gave me a toy for my name day, a wooden knight. I hid it from Gregor and when he found out, he shoved my head into burning coals and held me there as I screamed. One day, I will kill him. My sword will be the last thing he ever sees."

"How old are you now, Ser?" Sansa asked.

"I am no bloody Ser. Two and Nine." Sandor said.

"So it has been twenty two years - and you haven't gotten revenge?" Sansa asked.

"It is not easy to kill the Mountain." Clegane barked. "And it won't be easy to bring Joffrey down. But the day he falls, won't you want to be alive? To see him dead or beaten by your hand or another? My brother killed my father, and raped and murdered my sister. She was younger than you are now. Every day, I think of how fucking happy I will be when the Mountain is gone."

Sansa hesitated and stepped away from the window. "But how? Joffrey is protected by guards. There are gold cloaks and red cloaks….."

Sandor took her dainty hand into a giant studded leather glove. "Don't know. But you can't do anything if you are dead."

Clegane poured her a goblet of wine and stood next to the table, between her and the window. He won't let me jump, Sansa realized. The Hound had saved her or perhaps proved only that she was a coward. In the end, she was just a little bird, caged by the lions.

* * *

"Are you certain of your plans?" Robb asked. The ships had been loaded full of prisoners and would sail south after sunset to the Blackwater Rush. Arya and Jon would go with Owen Fossoway on the _**Wolf Wind**_, captained by loyal Mandery men and a few Wintertown boys.

"Certain? No - But I would trust Owen with my life. And Alleras is a good friend and clever." Jon replied. He gave Ghost a tug on his pale shaggy fur and hugged Nymeria goodbye. Dire wolves had never been seen south of the God's Eye.

"I wish we knew more. A few tunnels underneath the Red Keep, and two spies in the city. That is hardly enough to bet your life." Robb protested.

"If we knew more, the Lannisters might suspect our coming. Two things have worked against us. The Tyrells joined the Iron Throne and your mother released Ser Jaime. The Lannisters believe they are winning - that we must sing and dance to Lord Tywin's tune. Either we march our troops into the Crownlands or we abandon Sansa. We need to change the game. When you raced down to Riverrun with only the horse, the North won because of speed and surprise. Just think, Robb. What could you do if Sansa was free and not trapped in King's Landing?" Jon said.

"I could go anywhere in Westeros. I could send the army back north, or siege Casterly Rock, or even march to the stormlands and attack King's Landing north through the kingswood."

"If we have Sansa, the Lannisters have no hold over us. We can starve them in their castles. We can go home to Winterfell. We can strike anywhere. We can force them to defend and their men are all trapped in King's Landing." Jon said.

"It is a good plan but dangerous. You know what will happen if you are captured..." Robb said.

"I won't be taken alive, Robb. We are playing for the highest of stakes. Either we kill them or they will kill us. There is no middle ground." Jon said.

"If the danger is too great…." Robb said.

"Aye, I know. I will send Arya back. I will do my best to keep her safe." Jon said.

"If you did not take her, she would have followed you anyway. Our sister swears that even blindfolded, she can guide you through the tunnels." Robb smiled as the dire wolves nipped each other playfully. "I plan to march north. Ironborn have been seen near the Cape of Eagles. Lord Mallister believes the Greyjoys will attack Seagard to avenge their losses at the Neck. I will keep men at Harrenhal and the crossroads but take most of the army up the Blue Fork."

"Do you intend to raid into the crownlands?" Jon asked.

"I will send outriders east, south and west. But not to raid, only to be seen. Let the Lannisters wonder where we may strike next. Or even the Greyjoys. I wonder if Tywin has allied with Balon Greyjoy." Robb said darkly.

"Keep the dire wolves with you, Robb. Trust no one that Ghost, Nymeria or Grey Wind dislike." Jon said. "Do not let your guard down until our enemies are beaten."

Robb nodded. "Father always said that we must hope for the best but plan for the worst."

Jon hugged his brother. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

"Take care of yourself, Snow. Bring our sisters back to me - both of them."

The brothers parted as night fell over the cold steel waters of the God's Eye. Above them, the comet burned blood red, fire red - a bloody blade pointed at King's Landing. Jon boarded the _**Wolf Wind**_ and headed south.

**Author's Notes**

Lothar Frey is the one who comes to negotiate for Walder after Robb marries Jeyne/Talisa. He is noted to be cunning and well spoken. For some reason, Lame Lothar was one of the six or seven to launch Hoster Tully's death boat. Of course, he was instrumental in the Red Wedding.

_**"We find our true friends on the battlefield."**_ This is probably the biggest problem with Season 8. Ned Stark believes this - why don't Jon, Arya and Sansa? Like her or not, Daenerys Targaryen is the only reason why the North has any chance against the White Walkers.

It makes total sense for Edmure Tully to marry. His father just died - He needs heirs. It is also an interesting point that House Frey because they are quite secluded would not suffer any impact from the Mountain and other Lannister raids in the Riverlands. They started as the strongest house (by swords) and their relative advantage increased during the war.

There is a chapter where Tyrion captures Baratheon loyalists who name themselves Antler Men and try (pitifully) to rebel against the Throne. Their heads are catapulted at the enemy in the Battle of the Blackwater. I suspect there is some historical analogue to this. Otherwise it is a detail that GRRM really doesn't develop.

Men die in war - so do Kings. Harold Godwinson died with an arrow wound to the head or eye. Richard the Lionhearted was hit by a crossbow bolt and the wound turned gangrenous. He died ten days later. And Richard III was forced to dismount after leading a cavalry charge. Then he was surrounded and hacked to death by halberds.

In the books, when Jaime first comes back to King's Landing, his father tries to get him to marry Margaery Tyrell. Tywin seems to think he can get Jaime to marry Margaery and Cersei to marry Oberyn. I see Tywin as an incredibly overbearing parent who views his children as prizes for his glory. In the TV show, Jaime is willing to marry if Tyrion is spared and sent to the Night's Watch. Tywin wants heirs. Sansa Stark has optionality - if he can kill Robb and Jon, she has a claim to the North. Say she doesn't though - she still has Stark blood - and the Starks are the oldest noble family in Westeros - 8,000 years old. What would Margaery Tyrell or Oberyn Martell bring the Lannisters? Prestige, and soldiers of course (assuming you could trust either family) - but no land. In the book, Margaery has two older brothers - she is not giving the Reach away.

Orys Baratheon was rumored to be Aegon's bastard brother. He killed Argillac the Arrogant, the Storm King. The daughter Argella claimed Storm's End would resist to the last man but then the stories say she got suckered by Orys' gentle words. Orys was captured by the Dornish a few years later, and they chopped his hand off before returning him to Aegon the Conqueror.

The unnamed septon is Meribald who takes Podrick and Brienne to the Inn at the Crossroads. In this story, he is also the one who delivers the food to the inn before Arya arrives.

Septon Moon is one of the colorful characters who leads one of the Faith Militant uprisings in **Fire and Blood**. He is killed by poison, presumably on the orders of Jaehaerys. Mysaria was the mistress of Daemon Targaryen, a dancer from Lys. She is his unofficial Master of Whispers. Maester Aemon mutters "The sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler" to Samwell Tarly who then repeats the words to Alleras. It implies that Alleras is Sarella Sand in disguise.

The march on Duskendale by Robett Glover was a huge mistake. Tyrion wonders whether Robb Stark has finally made an error but it was a function of Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister conspiring together. It highlights the enormous mistake Robb made in trusting a man who made his skin crawl. In the TV show, Robett Glover is a ninny as opposed to the Mormonts. He makes the whole "I am sorry I missed the fight" speech but actions matter more than words.

Writing this chapter made me wonder about the importance of a female hostage in the world of Game of Thrones. On the one hand, the notion of Sansa and Arya being less valuable than Jaime Lannister is clearly stated by Robb at Riverrun. Then again, Brandon Stark and his father rush to their deaths when they believe Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna. So which is it? Are girls important enough to go to war? I see the North as a bit like Scotland - easy going but often prone to furious reactions over points of honor. I think marrying Sansa to the Imp would be seen as a great provocation to the Stark bannermen - and I also think that would be Tywin's bet.

The tallest medieval castle in Europe is the Chateau Coucy, measuring 55 meters high by 35 meters wide for the castle tower. Osaka Castle measured 59 meters high. Both towers have been destroyed since in wars. Heights are not very consistent in A Song of Ice and Fire but Harrenhal and Storm's End are clearly taller than 150 feet, but also impossible with medieval technology. After all, the Hightower is taller than the 700 feet high Wall!

When Joffrey shows Sansa her father's head on a spike (**A Game of Thrones**, Chapter 67), she thinks about shoving Joffrey over the parapet to his death. It is a short moment and then the Hound wipes the blood off her lip. Had Sansa done that, I think there is a very good chance the war ends much better for the good guys - and we would only have two books! The Game of Thrones and then a second book when Robb kicks Tywin's ass.

I looked forward to the Clegane Bowl, and was disappointed, like much of Season 8. But if you think about it, the Hound was a seasoned killer when he was 12! Why didn't he try to kill the Mountain years before? The most likely explanation is that Tywin was smart enough to keep the two separated. But for almost twenty years? Sandor and Gregor hated each other. They would have fought way before 299 AC. And to be honest, Book Tywin's all knowing attitude got old. It got tiresome to see Tyrion pat himself on the back for his cleverness, but then only twiddle his thumbs as we got foreshadowing for the Red Wedding in the Tyrion chapters.

The second condition - a debt of honor to House Fossoway - is a big deal. But not for many chapters. Jon is asking a lot from Owen, and Owen does the same down the road. Owen's favor will be harder than stealing into an enemy city and rescuing a sister.

**_"I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."_** These words are not lucky. Arthur Dayne said them before the Tower of Joy battle. Mance says it to Stannis before he is executed. Jon says it to Daenerys at Eastwatch.


	30. Secrets

**Secrets**

The boat bobbed against the water, as sharp winds blowing west fought the river currents. The **Wolf Wind** had sailed two nights and a day, and the journey was far more pleasant than the hurried flight with Yoren from King's Landing. Then, the roads had been little more than shallow ruts through weeds and the food scarce - blackberries, corn, and apples foraged by Arya, Gendry, Lommy and Hot Pie after the hard bread, salt fish and cheese had been devoured. The prisoners of the Reach ate far better than recruits from the Night's Watch. Cabin boys dished out warm bowls of porridge with milk and dried apples at all hours, and the cook made a hearty white stew from crabs, mussels, and three kinds of fish - purchased fresh with silver stags and copper stars from fishermen plying their trade on the Rush. Loaves of crusty bread were warmed on hot coals, and served with crocks of churned butter and dark colored honey.

The war seemed far away as villagers haggled over the price of a bounty of trout and pike, eager to row back before nightfall. Fossoway, Oakheart and Hightower prisoners paid their respects to the boat crew and were treated in kind. She caught her brother and Owen playing cyvasse and reminiscing about their adventures at the Citadel over a jug of sweet cider. The devastation in the Riverlands - trampled fields, ruined homes, sacked septs, and rotting corpses hung from trees - had faded as they went South. Arya did not like this creeping peace.

"You look troubled." Jon said, as the last smallfolk dipped their oars to head for the shore. He handed her a mug of honey mead.

Arya bit her lip nervously, looking around to see if anyone was close. Jon waited patiently until she realized that Chett and a few other boys formed a shadow guard around the forecastle. She leaned over the boat bow, her eyes facing east, and away from her brother. "Why aren't we doing more?" Arya hissed.

"We are sailing to King's Landing. We will be there in three days."

"But…." She turned her head to Jon. In the sky, the red comet glowed. "Isn't there anything to do now? Plans to make? Preparations?"

Jon shook his head. "All that must wait. The rescue is three things. Find Sansa, take her, and escape the city. We need to wait and see. It would be foolish to plan now."

"But we know she is in the Tower of the Hand, guarded by the Imp." Arya insisted.

"That is what Owen believes, but that knowledge is many days old. She may be moved before the wedding. She might have a new set of guards - Lannisters or Tyrells. And the wedding might take place in the Great Hall, in the Tower of the Hand, or even in Maegor's Holdfast. We will need to know as we can before making our plans." Jon said.

"But how will we find out? We will be in the tunnels, not in the castle." Arya said.

"Owen is close to Ser Garlan. The Tyrells will certainly attend any wedding in the Red Keep. The Lannisters cannot deny that to their allies." Jon rubbed his fingers over the wooden sphinx. "And Alleras, the sphinx, is in King's Landing."

"Will he be able to help us?" Arya said.

Jon chuckled. "Alleras is a she. Alleras disguised herself as a young man to attend the Citadel. She is quite clever, and sphinxes are famed for knowing a great deal. But I do not understand her truly or her game."

"What do you mean, Jon? Could she betray us?" Arya said.

"I don't think so but she enjoys her riddles. Alleras left the Citadel for King's Landing. Why? You do not travel a thousand miles during a war on a whim." Jon said.

"Could this be a trap?" Arya wondered.

Jon shook her head. "Her mother is a Summer Islander but her father is a Dornish lord - and a rich and powerful one. Alleras does not brag but her goldenheart bow is a gift worthy of kings. The Dornish have not forgotten the murder of Aegon and Rhaenys by the Lannisters. And Alleras has spoken fondly many times of Dorne and her family. But why she decided to come to King's Landing now - that is a mystery."

"But you expect her to help us?" Arya probed.

"I do. She is more clever than Owen - and he is no fool. But the sphinx does not yield secrets without a cost. Alleras has her reasons, but what they are - only the gods know. " Jon said.

"Perhaps she wants you to run away with her to Dorne." Arya jested.

Jon smiled back. "Now you sound like Sansa, with her songs and tales of maidens who fall in love and bestow their favor on some brave hero. Alleras is no lady, and I am no knight. We are going to King's Landing to ruin a wedding."

"Like Dunc and Egg in one of their adventures." Arya said impishly. She loved the stories of the hedge knight and his squire who grew up to be an unexpected king.

"I doubt Ser Duncan or Aegon would lie, cheat and steal their way to glory. But we will do what we must to free Sansa. And now, you should rest, little sister. No practicing with Needle or Gram. We must be well rested when we arrive." Jon said. The rapid currents of the Blackwater rushed them to King's Landing.

* * *

The serving maid blushed as Alleras pressed a shiny silver stag into the outstretched hand. A smile from the comely black eyes dismissed the pretty girl, as she rushed back to the bar with empty tankards. Alleras nursed the nut brown ale slowly. She had visited several winesinks and taverns the last few days, on the Street of Sisters connecting the Hill of Rhaenys and Visenya's Hill. Away from the Red Keep, there were fewer gold cloaks, and more grumbling with the Iron Throne. But men and women always complained about kings. Only a few were insolent and strong enough to defy them.

The shabby inn on Eel Alley rested halfway between the Alchemist's Guild and the Great Sept of Baelor. Alleras hoped to hear talk about the Queen and her two brothers but the tap room was unpromising. No fat septons slummed here, looking to break their vows by getting drunk before visiting the brothels on the Street of Silk to the west. And only a few pallid men with brown leather robes and cowls drank under the watchful eye of an old crone. Maesters disliked pyromancers for many good reasons, one of which was that the zealots rarely talked about anything but the glories of wildfire. She doubted they knew any useful gossip.

A plump shadow blocked the torch light, smelling of rosewater and lilac. Soft white hands reached for the rickety chair and a bald man with a round moon face, dressed in rich yellow and orange damasks, sat down. "Try the hissing eels. They are quite good here."

"I would rather have roast fowl, well crisped." Alleras said.

"Then you should go to a nicer inn. This one is known for its eels. Mysaria, I presume?"

Alleras raised one eyebrow but the smooth brown face betrayed no emotion. "Who wants to know?"

The plump man smiled. "Mysaria is a woman's name. An unwashed septon might not know but I was born in Lys. An odd name you chose. Mysaria was the mistress of whispers to Prince Daemon, but her skin was as pale as milk. Yours is not."

"Then I doubt this story is true. Why would I hide as a woman?" Alleras asked, smiling. "I am just a trader from Lys, looking to sell rum."

"Rum to the Riverlands?" The man mused. "Rum is a drink for sailors. Ironborn. Pirates and those who need to be drunk to brave the seas. Why sell rum on the Blackwater?"

"Not everyone can afford Arbor Gold or Dornish red, my lord. You can get drunk faster on black tar rum. Would you like a taste?"

Varys tittered. "Would I live if I drank your rum? The alchemists of Lys are rather famous for their concoctions."

"I am just a trader of rum. I can't afford the Strangler or the tears of Lys. Can you?" The Master of Whispers smiled. "What is your true name? And why are you in King's Landing?"

"You do not give up your secrets. Why should I reveal mine?"

He stood up to leave, soft hands clasped behind his back. "My trade is secrets, my lady. We will meet again, and then I will know more."

Alleras smiled, her large black eyes on the eunuch's back. Her voice was too low to be heard. "Perhaps, Lord Varys. I might learn your secrets as well. "

* * *

Servants scurried through the Tower of the Hand, and Tyrion wondered how many were spies. He had little choice in the wedding and none in the preparations. The marriage, Lord Tywin decreed, would reflect the glory of the Lannisters. There would be tumblers and singers, pipers and jugglers. Two dozen courses would be served but his father had warned him not to get drunk that night, at least until the bedding. That would be a hard order to follow, Tyrion grimaced. Podrick had poured out one bottle of wine already that morning. No doubt his father would hear if he emptied a second bottle before noon.

"Tyrion." His brother strode past several of Bronn's hired killers, resplendent in a white cloak and plate armor. Jaime's wary eyes swept through the Small Hall. "What in the seven Hells?"

"Our sweet sister sent over her seamstresses this morning. Stewards are measuring space for adding benches and tables. The Tyrells have offered their cooks. Quite a gift, given the size of Mace Tyrell's belly. My private chambers have been taken over by a small army of lickspittles. Luckily, only Sansa needs to be fitted for her robes and dresses. I will be wearing the usual Lannister gold and crimson." Tyrion said.

"Why are there so many guards?" Jaime gestured to the heavily armed and armored fighters standing at the wooden door of the solar.

"Oh, those four." Tyrion sipped the Arbor gold. "They are here for Sansa. The shorter one is Loras Tyrell, here to defend the honor of his sister's new lady in waiting. As for the taller three - the Hound has guarded Sansa the longest. Brienne, you know as Lady Stark's messenger. And the final one is Ser Osmund Kettleblack. He is one of Cersei's swords."

"Ser Osmund? I have never heard of a Kettleblack in any tourney or melee." Jaime said.

Tyrion shrugged. "He claims he was knighted by Ser Robert Stone when he served with the Gallant Man fighting for Lys or Tyrosh in some hellhole in Essos."

Jaime stared at the muscled man with black hair, a hook nose, bushy eyebrows, and a triangular brown beard. Kettleblack was Brienne's height but half a head shorter than Sandor Clegane. "I have not heard of Robert Stone either. A bastard knight of the Vale serving with sellswords?"

"Who gives a shit? He is a sellsword working for Cersei. All of my wife's guards serve different masters. They do not answer to me." Tyrion said.

"Don't you worry about them being so close?" Jaime said.

"That they will try to kill me? The four of them are more likely to attack each other. Ser Loras does not like Brienne. Brienne does not like the other three. Kettleblack might be favorite with servants and wenches but not in a fight. My bet is that the Hound could kill them all in a fair battle." Tyrion said.

"No, that they might be spies." Jaime said.

"Might be?" Tyrion blinked his eyes. "They are all spies, Jaime and all watching Sansa Stark. I hope this lasts only until the wedding, and that I can dismiss the guards in a sennight. My first wedding was so much better. A drunken septon and pigs as witnesses. I was even sober."

Jaime fingered the pommel of his longsword before placing both hands down on the trestled table. "Tyrion, I have to speak about." He stopped when Podrick rushed over with a note.

Tyrion dismissed the boy curtly and read the missive. "Littlefinger has returned to King's Landing. That could mean trouble."

"Why?" Jaime asked.

Tyrion tapped his fingers together. "I took something of his. I wonder if he will try to take something of mine. Baelish is not to be trusted. A man who trafficks in whores lies to everyone, and he lies very well."

"About your first marriage..." Jaime said.

Tyrion stared at the wine. "I remember. She was a sweet young thing. She sang to me - _"The Seasons of My Love."_ We played at being man and wife in a little cottage by the sunset sea until you told me the truth. The best two weeks of my life. I have never forgotten. But it was all false. No one could love someone like me."

"That is not true, brother." Jaime said.

"Oh, I suppose, a few of our family did not despise me. Aunt Genna. Uncle Tyg. Gerion. And of course you, brother. You hired a whore to make me a man. She taught me the truth of the world, that no girl could ever love a dwarf." Tyrion said.

Tyrion would have noticed his brother's discomfort had he looked up from the table. "Tyrion, your marriage was not." But before Jaime could finish, the great wooden door slammed open. Sansa Stark walked out, pursued by a gaggle of women bearing garments of many colors.

"I will not wear that." the Stark girl said. She might be a prisoner but his betrothed carried herself with courtesy and grace.

"But you must, my lady. The queen insists on it."

One of Cersei's maids, he realized. Tyrion stood up, quite aware that he was much shorter than Sansa. She is one and four, and yet she towered over him. "What seems to be the problem?"

Sansa pointed. "The seamstress insists that I wear that." The dress was heavy cloth of gold with two heavily embroidered bands wrapped from the waist to the neck. There were Stark dire wolves and Tully trout entwined but a great lion's head was stamped at the back of the neck. Even Moon Boy would understand what that meant. Ripe red pomegranates were woven into the back, another symbol of the power and wealth of House Lannister.

"But what will you wear?" Tyrion asked gently.

"I know that I cannot have a maiden's cloak sewn by my mother, and that I must take a bride's cloak with lions and rubies. But for my dress, I would rather have something simple - white and ivory samite, and not gold." Sansa said.

"But the queen says that.."

Tyrion interrupted. "The queen is not marrying Lady Sansa. My lady's gown should suit her birth as the daughter of a great lord. If she wishes for a dress of white and silver rather than gold, then I will not object." He turned to his betrothed. "I know that you do not want this. But I would try to make the marriage ceremony less unpleasant."

Her face did not betray disgust as Tyrion waited. "My Lord, they will not allow me to wear the Stark sigil. Not as I would like. So I only ask to wear the colors of my house. Gray on white."

"As a cloak?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes, My lord. As a cloak and as a veil before the wedding. To honor my father." Sansa said. Tyrion nodded even as others in the room winced.

Sansa curtsied and turned to walk back to the solar. Pity, Tyrion thought Sansa Stark would have made an excellent bride for his idiot nephew. He admired her straight back and high head as she departed, followed by her many guards. Tyrion did not notice Jaime wince. The eyes of the room were on Sansa Stark. Even caged, she looked every inch a queen.

* * *

Tyrion trudged up the twisting steps from the small council chambers to the Great Hall, walking past dozens and dozens of armed and wary soldiers. Men wearing the lion rampant bumped shoulders with Tyrell retainers proudly displaying golden roses. Reachmen, Westermen, and Crownlanders drilled in the courtyards and the lower bailey, under the watchful gaze of gold cloaks wielding iron spears. Even without the raucous and always combative mountain clansmen, the Red Keep bristled with tension, and Tyrion rarely left the Tower of the Hand without Bronn and a handpicked band of sellswords.

Tyrion had lost control of the Small Council. He accepted that with only a modicum of bitterness. His father's shadow was long and dark, and loomed large over King's Landing. Only the oafish Mace Tyrell seemed unaware of who was the True Hand of the King. Jaime knew, as did the fawning Grand Maester Pycelle. His brother's pitying look and Pycelle's bootlicking did not bother Tyrion. It was two remaining members of the Small Council that troubled him.

Varys had known days ago that his father intended to marry Tyrion to Sansa Stark. That, of course, was no great surprise. The Master of Whispers had little birds that hid behind the walls and doors, always listening. Ravens were lost and messages stolen, only to reappear later, at the eunuch's bidding. Varys had known but simply chose not to tell him. What else was the Spider hiding? What other secrets and plots festered behind that oily powdered facade?

Tyrion was no spring lamb. He knew that Varys stole information the way others hungered for gold or women. No thief gave up their treasures willingly but he could no longer rely on the eunuch. That was a pity. He had hoped to set Varys against Baelish, and that the Spider's web of spies could keep the Master of Coin in check.

For it was Littlefinger that worried him more. It was Litlefinger that had nearly cost him his head at the Eyrie with a lie to Catelyn Stark. And as Master of Coin, Baelish had gathered far more power than many realized. The harbormasters, the tax agents, the toll collectors, the ship pursers - they were all his men, many appointed in the last seven years, merchant's sons and bastards of minor lords dancing to Littlefinger's tune. True, Baelish had no army or banners but he had gold - and enough coins could buy the first two. After all, the gold of Casterly Rock allowed the Lannisters to rule the Westerlands.

Men like Ned Stark and Jaime Lannister were easy to predict. When provoked, they lashed out with their sword or harsh words. But Petyr Baelish did not dirty his own hands. He worked through others - corrupted goldcloaks, whores, hedge knight, even Catelyn Stark. He had sent Janos Slynt to the Wall and Allar Deem to a watery grave but there were other tools in Baelish's quiver. Tyrion did not have the power to remove them all.

As he ascended the serpentine staircase, a furtive little boy snuck out of a side door, blocking the steps up. This was no little bird though. For one, he was rather plump. And two, stealth was impossible when wearing a bright yellow and crimson doublet with a prancing stag sewn in pearls and a lion in garnets.

"Tommen, shouldn't you be attending your lessons with the maesters?" Tyrion asked. The boy looked with worry at the guards and then dragged his uncle's hand into an empty hall. Tyrion signaled his men to give them space. "What is wrong? Is it Joffrey?"

The boy nodded, his eyes looking around carefully to make certain there were no listeners. "

Don't worry, nephew. I will protect you from your idiot brother." Tyrion said.

"Uncle, I am not worried about myself. Joffrey means to attack you."

Tyrion blinked and kept calm. Tommen was a sweet child, incapable of lies. "Tell me everything."

The words rushed out. "I overheard Joffrey laughing in the holdfast. He means to ruin your wedding, uncle. There was a man in the room, who promised to help, and said he would show to the world who you truly were."

"Who I am? I am Tyrion, the Lion of Lannister." He grinned.

Tommen's face turned anxious. "This is serious, uncle. You know that when Joffrey laughs…"

His shit of a nephew took joy in torturing others. As a child, only the fear of his purported father, Robert Baratheon, had checked Joffrey's sadistic streak - and now a cruel boy had been anointed king. "Who was the man speaking to Joffrey?"

"It was the short one with grey hair. He wore a blue velvet waistcoat and a yellow cape."

Baelish. Littlefinger was whispering in the king's ear. "Did Joffrey summon him or did he come by himself?"

Tommen's eyes fell. "I am sorry, uncle. I do not know."

"And they did not say what they would do?"

"I only heard bits and pieces. Joffrey spoke Sansa Stark's name. And the other man mentioned that he would bring whores. They won't hurt Sansa, will they?"

"I won't let them." Tyrion said but the empty words did not dispel the concern on his nephew's face. Tommen might only have ten name days but he knew his brother's kindness well.

"I like Lady Sansa. She is sweet and kind. I wish I was stronger, uncle. I wish I wasn't a stupid little boy. Joffrey says I am a mewling kitten always crying for mother."

"Hush, Tommen. You are worth ten times your brother. Kittens can grow up to be lions, too. And I am thankful that you told me. Now I can protect Lady Sansa for both of us."

He patted his nephew awkwardly on his shoulder. But Tyrion was not certain that Tommen believed his words. Even with the warning, he was still in the dark. What in the Seven Hells was Littlefinger plotting? Did Varys know? And what of his father? Joffrey was a reckless fool but Baelish would not anger Tywin Lannister for no reason. His father had ordered the betrothal. Lord Tywin would be furious with any slights against Lannister honor. Or he might blame it all on his youngest son.

Tyrion's head throbbed. Seven days to go, and already the wedding was a disaster. He was not well suited for marriage.

* * *

Arya stared glumly at the bolt of cloth that the Winter Town boys cobbled from several cloaks. The colors matched - silver on waves of blue and mud red. But she had completely botched the job, and there was no way to salvage the work, just like that day at Winterfell with Sansa and Princess Myrcella. She set down her needle and sighed.

"It doesn't look that bad." Jon said, trying not to laugh.

"My stitches are crooked." She held up the cowl. The loose hood meant to be wrapped about the neck and head billowed in the wind. A long silver shape faced left on a field of blue and red. It looked more like a fat frog than a leaping silver fish. "I hate needlework."

"It doesn't matter, Arya. Only that she will know." Jon said.

Arya chewed her lip. "Are you sure? When I saw Sansa last, she was screaming and sobbing. What if she can't hide her surprise? What if the Lannisters find out?"

Jon held the cloth, outstretched between his two hands. It was long enough to be wrapped about the head thrice over, and the folds would veil the face like a septon's hood. The embroidery on the wool was meant to be the silver trout of House Tully. "They won't. Have faith in our sister. And even if they do, the trail will not be clear." He rapped on the door.

Owen Fossoway walked into the cabin, his face relaxed. The hold of the _Wolf Wind_ had few prisoners left. Many Reachmen had departed at Tumbler's Fall for the Rose Road and more still at Castlewood. Both Arya and Jon had shaved their heads, their long brown hair tossed into the depths of the Blackwater. They wore the drab plain brown capes of tradesmen or small merchants. Good, Arya thought. It would be easy to slip into King's Landing. The ship would dock at the Mud Gate soon, and the game would begin.

Two of Jon's boys, dressed as pages, guarded the door. Chett would follow Owen into the city and Clydas would watch the docks. Jon wrapped the cowl tightly into a small bundle.

"Do you know exactly what you have to do?"

The Reachman nodded. "I could do more, Jon. I could.."

Jon shook his head. "No, Owen. Better a few simple things than a complex plan. You have three tasks only. The Tyrells will be guests at the wedding. You need to find any details possible. Guests, guards, septon, feasts. Second, stay in touch with Chett. He can reach me at…"

"The Jester's Green on Copper's Smith Wynd. North of the Mud Gate and near the Street of Steel." Chett had constructed a map of King's Landing from the top of Visenya's Hill to the walls near the docks. The boy was quick and clever, and would blend well into the crowds.

Jon handed Owen the red and brown cloth. "And this. Hand this to Brienne of Tarth. Repeat my words exactly. Do not say any more to her."

Owen scratched a wispy beard. "But will she understand your message?"

"Probably not. But that is not your problem. Do not answer any of her questions."

"I could hand the scarf to Sansa directly. I am sure the Tyrells will call on her before the wedding." Owen said eagerly.

"No. She will be watched. Brienne has a reason to seek her out. You do not. And Brienne is stubborn. If she believes the gift is from Catelyn Stark, then she will move heaven and earth to place it in Sansa's hands." Jon said.

"But the cloth is not from Lady Stark." Owen looked dubiously at the floppy trout.

"Brienne does not know that. But Sansa will." Jon patted Owen on the shoulder. "It is better that you do not know the exact details. Then you won't attract the eyes of others. Do exactly what I say. Brienne will seek you out afterwards, and when she does…"

"I will find you at Jester's Green." Owen said.

"Just so. Good luck, Owen. Confide only in Chett. No written messages, Speak only when you cannot be overheard. Be careful." Jon said.

"I am not the one in danger. Good luck, Snow."

* * *

King's Landing stank. She could smell the smoke, sweat, piss and dung of the city long before the tall walls came into view. Arya remembered Winterfell. The castle was warm, even when it snowed. She recalled her brothers sparring in the courtyards, her father looking proudly on from the covered bridge, their dire wolves gamboling about in the godswood without any regard for the hunting dogs in the kennels. The dire wolves were only pups then, but they had no fear. Like her big brothers, Arya thought. Like me.

The _Wolf Wind_ bobbed slowly east, hugging the north bank. Men in iron helmets, black armor, and heavy wool cloaks, dyed gold, patrolled the walls. They had passed the king's gate and the stink of the fish market hit her nostrils. Several dirty cats prowled along the wharves, attracted by the briny smell of fish and brine. Open barrels of shellfish were guarded by smallwives and grizzled men selling their wares to sailors. The day was crisp and clear but the city was as ugly and dirty as ever. The capital of the Seven Kingdoms claimed to be rich but tens of thousands lived in ramshackle buildings and slums.

The captain shouted, and the boat stopped. All the boats stopped. A large crimson banner was unfurled at the Mud Gate. On the opposite shore, a stately barge made its way across the Blackwater, festooned with half a dozen banners. Jon stood to her left at the bow, a spyglass hidden in this right hand. He motioned to the city wall. A dozen men sat there on their horses. The shortest one led that pack.

"The Imp." Arya said. Tyrion Lannister sat on a white palfrey between his squire and sellsword. "What is he doing here?"

"He is still the Hand of the King. Look carefully at the ship crossing the river." Jon said.

Arya saw many sigils - a golden hand, a black vulture clutching an infant in its claws, a row of lemons, a.. "What's the chicken like thing with a snake in its beak?"

"A cockatrice. They are said to live in Sothoryos but no one has seen one in a few hundred years. Those banners don't matter. Which one does?" Jon asked.

That was apparent. One sigil dominated the rest, a gold spear piercing a red sun on an orange field. Arya had never paid much attention to _**The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses**_ but even northmen knew that banner. "House Martell. The Dornish are here."

Jon played surreptitiously with the spyglass, scanning the boat. He stopped on a cluster of figures at the center of the boat. Wordlessly, he handed the instrument to Arya. An exotic lady in red stood with three very different women. The tallest was a long legged muscular warrior wearing breeches and a linen tunic, the second was slim and elegant with full red lips and pale olive skin, and the third was a golden haired girl with dimples and a sweet false smile. And then Arya saw the man. He was older, but slender and graceful with a deeply tanned and lined face, a sharp nose, and lustrous dark hair with only a few streaks of silver.

"Are those the Martells?" Arya whispered.

Jon nodded as he took the spyglass back. "That is Oberyn Martell, the younger Prince of Dorne. And some of the women must be his daughters."

"The Sand Snakes. I hear that they can all fight with knives or spears." Arya gushed.

"Or a goldenheart bow." Her brother replied with an amused tone. "I should have guessed. Black hair. Black eyes. And a widow's peak. She is not a lord's daughter."

"Do you know them, Jon?" Arya asked with surprise.

"Not those three. But I know their sister." Jon aimed not at the Imp or the Red Viper but at the walls and wharves near the River Gate. He looked for a long time, until the barge had docked and the Martells and their retainers entered the city.

* * *

They walked past the shabby wood stalls of Fishmonger's Square with their cries of mussels and cockles and clams. The secret tunnels under the Red Keep had many exits, but Arya knew only one passage well, twisting east past the cavern holding dragon skulls to Flea Bottom. That was their destination but they had many hours before nightfall. They would not march to Flea Bottom directly but rather wind their way around, going back and forth to make certain they were not followed.

Muddy Way was full of begging children. She knew - she had been one only six moons ago, searching cobblestones for crusts of stale bread. Arya had been lucky - she was fast enough to kill pigeons with her wooden stick sword. They left the wide road before it met the other great streets, making for Weasel Street, where they pretended to ask for a room at an inn, for a merchant and his son. They bought food from a pushcart peddler for a dozen coppers - three tarts stuffed with blueberries and bits of apricots and lemons. They went west - a long and circular path to the Street of Steel, through Cobbler's Square, and past the brothels on the Street of Silk. Everywhere, there were signs of want and plenty - hungry refugees and frightened smallfolk scurrying past high stone and timber mansions behind bronze gates bristling with armed men. A carriage pulled by two bay ponies passed them, two short broad shouldered servants guarding a young girl with a shy smile. A high class whore, Arya guessed from the bright and revealing dress, being driven to a lecherous master.

Her brother's eyes roved about the streets, alleys and lanes, taking in the many buildings and signposts. "What are you looking for?" Arya asked.

"Just thinking about what could be improved - more pipes, more fountains, wider streets, trees, and sturdier buildings. I could take this pile of sticks and mud and make it a city of stone."

"King's Landing is a shithole." Arya said.

"It doesn't always have to be."

Arya snorted. "I think that is beyond even your powers." Jon only smiled back.

As the sun fell low in the sky, they finally came to Flea Bottom. Arya had spent many weeks here, in the maze of twisty alleys and unpaved cross streets. They bought fresh hot bread from a baker on the Street of Flour, ignoring the pot-shops with their bowls of brown. They ignored the stench of pigsties, tanneries, and stables, mixed in with the sour fragrance of whorehouses and winesinks. At dusk, they entered the tunnels.

* * *

They waited until the corridor lightened as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. Arya led the way, her hands touching the rough unfinished stone and cold earth of the walls. They progressed slowly through dim gloomy rooms and pitch black halls. Jon had packed a small hooded lantern and carried wooden torches with tips of sulfur and lime. If they could, they would not use any lights. The only sound was the drip of water and the rap of Jon's staff as he prodded the ground for traps or secret doors. The taps would sound like water drops on puddles to most listeners.

Arya took small steps in the darkness, feeling for the iron rings in wood doors. A gust of cold air blew against her face at the end of a long hall, stirring a faint memory.

"Jon." She whispered. "This is where I saw them - the two men with a torch that were talking about killing the Hand."

"And where did they go from here?" Her brother asked intently.

Arya thought for a moment. "They pushed at some slab of rock, and it slid down. I crept after them, and the stone became rocks. I had to wade through the water and came out near the Rush. It smelled something foul."

"Likely, you found the sewer if that way leads to the Blackwater. They clearly know these tunnels. Do you remember more about their talk or the two men?" Jon asked.

"I am trying…" Arya said. "One was stout, but the other was fat. The really fat one with the jeweled rings had an accent from Essos. They said that a second Hand could die. But it was Joffrey that killed Father. And they talked about Stannis Baratheon, Lysa Arryn, the Lannisters fighting against the Tullys. Jon, they predicted the war - and this was before the fighting started."

Jon's eyes glittered. Even when he was younger, her older brother had a rare ability to focus. He was thinking hard and Arya hoped desperately that he would discover who had plotted against their family. In the dark, his eyes almost seemed violet.

"The question is why the two men met here in the tunnels." Jon said softly.

"To avoid spies."

"It must be more than that. One man had an accent. He likely sailed from the Free Cities. But the other one." Jon said.

"He was carrying the torch. He had scars on his face - and he was asking about little birds." Arya volunteered.

"Little birds?" Jon asked.

"Yes, he wanted fifty little birds from the fat man. They had to know their letters. And the first man said something about keeping their tongues. He said something about risk."

Her brother's face turned cold. Arya knew the glare was not for her, but the two plotters in the tunnels. "One man is from Essos. The other must be in the Red Keep. And these little birds…." He shook his head. "The world is full of monsters."

"I wish we could kill them all. The Lannisters, Joffrey, Cersei. Ilyn Payne, the Mountain, even the Tyrells. All of them." Arya cried.

"I want revenge too. But what matters is the safety of our sister. One day, we will make them all pay. But Sansa comes first."

Just then, they heard a hiss. An old black tom with a chewed and torn ear glared at them with angry yellow eyes. Arya remembered her training from Syrio Forel. This was the last cat she had captured, a tough black devil that ruled the Red Keep. Arya had kissed him right between the eyes before the sharp cat claws would have found her face. Jon walked to the tom, his right hand extended.

"Careful. That one is mean. Watch out for his claws and teeth." Arya called out.

"He won't bite me." The tom sniffed, and lowered his head, submitting to her brother's touch. Jon whispered something as he rubbed the ears - both the whole and the torn one. The black tom purred, a soft deep rumble that echoed in the tunnels. Then it hissed and walked away, precisely as any soldier marching, the footing sure and silent. Jon nodded to his sister, and they followed in the dark.

* * *

The cat led them through dark halls, past red stone walls that seemed to drip with blood, down long circular staircases, and finally, to a heavy metal door deep in the bowels of the earth. The walls were damp and splotched, and it was so very cold. Arya wrapped her wool cloak tightly over her doublet and the metal brigandine underneath. The chill was unnatural - bitter and bleak, worse than any nights in the wolfwood outside Winterfell.

Jon opened the door into a monstrous cavern, larger even than the room with the dragon skulls. Arya thought first that the floor was full of large pebbles but then she realized it was thousands of small canisters, buried in sand, round like a fat orange and made of rough clay. The tom hissed, squatting on a pile of stacked jars, like a dragon guarding a hoard. Jon stooped down and unsealed a wax lid. She saw the murky green liquid, oozing at the lip, and smell the pungent aroma as her brother raised the container. In the darkness, the green illuminated his freshly shorn head and his almost violet eyes.

"What are you holding?" Arya asked.

"Something rather useful. Wildfire." Jon answered.

**Author's Notes**

Seafood stew is served at the Septry of the Quiet Isle during a Brienne chapter as they look for Sansa Stark. The limping gravedigger and the black stallion are in all likelihood Sandor Clegane and Stranger. That chapter (**Feast for Crows, Chap 31**) conveys a real sense of peace.

Alleras is quite a mystery, and only given a few intriguing lines. Maybe she will be the Princess of Dorne after all the crap goes down! Or maybe she will just be a riddle inside an enigma that GRRM never explains like how the Prince Who Was Promised turns out to be Arya Stark.

The hissing eels are from a GRRM story in a 2009 anthology to celebrate Jack Vance. Vance is an old school fantasy writer who created the** Dying Earth**, a future where the world is exhausted, magic has re emerged and things have gone to hell. **A Night at the Tarn House** is weird and funny, and the hissing eels are great. The line on the roast fowl is also a quote from the story.

The wedding dress in the book and TV show differs by a lot. In the book, it is a quick affair. Sansa stupidly tells Ser Dontos about the Tyrells and then the Lannisters marry her off promptly. The age difference is important. Sansa is two years younger in the book, and she is still quite frivolous. (more understandable at 13 than 15-16) On TV, the costume designer makes a gold dress with a Lannister lion at the neck. The imagery is quite heavy handed.

Jaime fails (again!) to tell Tyrion about Tysha. It is hard to admit to your brother that you were part of a plot to gang rape his 13 year old wife who had done nothing wrong. Remember in the books - he only tells Tyrion after freeing him from the Black Cells.

The TV show makes it seem like the Varys and Tyrion show as they travel to Essos. But I have always thought that GRRM intended Varys as the master player of the Game. He is seen as a spymaster but Varys actually does kill with his own hands - Kevan Lannister and Pycelle. Note too that he uses a crossbow bolt, putting the blame on Tyrion. Of course in the books, Varys is the architect of the Aegon Blackfyre plot and in the TV show, he gets sidelined as a bit player. The TV show underestimates Varys, only throwing in a failed poisoning plot. It seems clear that both Baelish and Varys are majorly underestimated by everyone, including Tyrion. .

Tyrion makes a big deal about paying back debts like a Lannister should. But he never does anything about Petyr Baelish. That doesn't make much sense but GRRM may have decided early that it would be the Stark children who would kill Littlefinger. That said, his death on the show lacked any drama. If Starks melt below the Neck, then Baelish's brain froze up North.

The Tommen of the books was never really fleshed out, although in the Dance of Dragons, he is still alive. I hope GRRM will dedicate a chapter to his POV before his swan dive. Given the huge cast of characters, it is not surprising some come off as flat but Myrcella and Tommen deserved better. They were killed off to showcase Jaime's redemption path and Cersei's spiral downward.

The reference to knitting at Winterfell with Myrcella and Sansa is the first Arya POV chapter. It begins with "Arya's stitches were crooked again." That's why Jon has her stitch the Tully sigil.

Tyrion gets forced again to sit on his arse and wait for foreign dignitaries. In an earlier chapter of this story, he meets the Tyrells before Joffrey acts out as an idiot. Here, he repeats the scene in the book and TV show when he meets Oberyn Martell. And in the book, GRRM wastes a page on describing the various smaller houses - and none of them are ever mentioned again. Arya knows House Martell's sigil but none of the other ones. After all, no one really gives a crap.

Alleras is Sarella Sand. And Jon is scanning the walls for her and any other watchers. It is the spy watching a spy scene - but because it is still Arya's perspective, I couldn't find the words to describe it properly.

The famous Augustus quote is _**"I found Rome a city of bricks and left it a city of marble."**_ The first emperor cares more about his glory and Jon is more focused on building a better world. The travelogue of King's Landing comes from Arya's chapters. How many ten year olds could survive weeks in KL with only Needle and a stick sword? I find book Arya and Jon to be quite perceptive but this is Jon before becoming a dummy in the later TV seasons.

Arya is a bit bloodthirsty at the memory of Ned's beheading. Her including the Tyrells is akin to the massacre at Beziers. The pope ordered Arnaud Amalric to eliminate a heretical movement in South France. When Beziers didn't surrender the two hundred heretics, there was a siege and a massacre of the entire town of 20,000! When asked how to differentiate between the faithful and the heretics, Amalric allegedly said _**"Kill them all. God can sort them out."**_

For some reason, no one ever discusses Varys cutting out the tongues of his little birds. It is one of these gruesome details that is omitted in the TV show - and it really bothers me. Of course, if Ned Stark had bothered to listen to Arya's tale, Varys would be dead and the Starks would likely head North. It is one of those near things that makes the info dumps delightful in the books. And of course frustrating. In my opinion, Varys deserved a more painful death.

Balerion is Rhaenys' cat. GRRM said _"could be"_ when asked this question.

The wildfire is in clay jars in the books but in glass containers in the TV show. This is to show the liquid easily when Tyrion holds it up. Glass would be likely to be too expensive, and I wonder if medieval glaziers could make a tight fitting lid. This cavern is not the vault of the alchemists' guild. Rather, it is hidden underneath the dragonpit. Remember that Brynden Rivers burned bodies there in a plague. There is a lot of wildfire stored in this cache - more than enough for Jon's needs.

Bald Jon with violet eyes reminds me of Aegon the Unlikely. Of course that makes Arya the hedge knight and not the squire! The Dunc and Egg books are fun, even if they don't have the same weight as a _**Song of Ice and Fire**_.


	31. The Cat, the Spider and the Little Birds

**The Cat, the Spider and the Little Birds**

The old black tom did not bother to hiss. The other cats in the castle - fat lazy beasts fed by even fatter cooks, newborn kittens eager to explore and escape their groomed lady cat mothers, jaded tabbies lurking outside ratholes and midden heaps - had long acknowledged his sovereignty. Once in a while, a strutting young bravo would snarl and arch its back, only to hastily beat a retreat when battle began. Balerion was a mean old devil, as vicious as his namesake, the dragon that had once ruled the Red Keep.

But the cat was not prowling the chambers and halls of the castle. Instead, he stalked the passages and corridors underneath. At least half a dozen tunnels met and made their separate ways into and out of King's Landing. There were traps, sliding doors, buried levers, locked portcullises hidden in the dark maze. A cat could see, hear, and smell far better than a human. Even the whiskers sensed the movement of air to more easily detect anything odd in the walls, floors and ceilings. Balerion had no troubles navigating the gloom.

There were many levels to the network of passages and tunnels. And there were doors, often concealed, that opened to circular staircases leading into different areas of the Red Keep. The old cat had found the dungeons of the black cells, the rungs that led from the chamber of the three headed dragon to the master bedroom of the Tower of the Hand, and the cellars of the White Sword Tower. Balerion had found several exits as well. One long passage went West from the castle, terminating in the stench of Flea Bottom and the redolent perfume of whorehouses. Two tunnels went South to the river while another led to a narrow path of handholds that faced Blackwater Bay and the narrow sea.

Balerion passed through a hall filled with faded red and black tapestries into a room full of skulls - dragon skulls. The empty eyes of the heads watched as he leaped over ridges of black teeth and bony white horns. He made his way up the corridor to the light and noise. A long long time ago, he had attended court with his mistress, a smiling little girl, dark haired, olive skinned, and bright violet eyes. The girl had loved him greatly before being taken away by monsters.

He remembered faintly what was ahead - a giant cavernous chamber with a monstrous structure that ruled the room. Even a cat would fear the pile of sharp spikes, jagged metal, and half melted swords. The Great Hall was the grandest room in the Red Keep and the Iron Throne was the most striking part of the hall, a steel spire resting on an iron dais at the end of a long red carpet that stretched from massive oak and bronze doors to the throne. The secret door opened behind the Iron Throne into the tunnels, a way used only by the Targaryen kings.

Pale slits of light from the throne room lit up the corridor, illuminating a dirty and disheveled figure, squatting by the wall with a short dagger resting on the ground. The young boy marked a slate board with a pointed stylus as he held his ear to the wall. This was one of the little birds the fat man sold, a child whose tongue had been cut out to reduce the risk of telling secrets to others. Balerion sat and watched, his rage growing hot.

* * *

Arya Stark watched as the wildfire oozed through the bunghole of the cask. Last night, Jon had awakened a shopkeeper on River Row near the docks and the Mud Gate to buy barrels. The cooper's eyes lit up when presented with a fistful of golden dragons and the man had offered his best wares - casks well built enough to hold whale oil harvested in the Shivering Sea. Jon had bought a dozen different barrels, all banded with metal hoops as well as seals, stoppers, and spigots. The shop owner had even thrown in a wagon, a mule and two wheelbarrows to cart away their goods.

It took a long time even to fill a small cask. The chill in the dank vault kept the wildfire murky and thick. Heat would make the liquid flow more easily but any spark or flame could lead to a fire. Jon had explained that wildfire expanded with great violence, and could explode outwards into a massive conflagration. Arya had the time to be careful. They would move the barrels from the chamber when they were ready.

Her brother woke, and his eyes opened and closed, the milky white fading, as he stretched his arms in a yawn. Arya wondered if she would ever be able to warg as easily as Jon.

"I found many of the passages in the Red Keep. There is one below the Tower of the Hand where several tunnels meet. It is a small chamber with a red and black mosaic of House Targaryen, and you climb up a long staircase. It leads to the bedchamber." Jon said.

"Whose bed?" Arya asked. She sealed the cask with a metal bung.

"Most likely the Hand of the King. The passages were built by Maegor the Cruel. I think he used them to spy on his Small Council." Jon said.

Arya bit her lip. "If the passage leads there, couldn't we go tonight to kill the Imp, rescue Sansa, and burn down the Tower with wildfire?"

"We could kill Tyrion in his sleep. But that is not rescuing Sansa. The Hand's bed chamber will be guarded from the outside. We would need to slay his men, find Sansa's chamber, and then kill her guards. Doing that without raising the alarm would be hard." Jon replied.

"Even guards need to sleep. I can stab them with Needle and Gram." Arya said.

Jon shook his head. "We do not know where Sansa is in the Tower. If her chamber is near, then we might rescue her. But her bedroom might be a floor lower. Once any alarm is raised, Sansa is lost to us. And if we use wildfire on the Tower, we may kill everyone in the Tower, including ourselves, and Sansa."

"But Jon, what about the wildfire?" Arya said, pointing to the full casks.

"What about it, sister?" "How will we use it?"

Jon chuckled. "Very very carefully. We don't want to kill ourselves. Wildfire, like dragons, are best used sparingly. Do you know how the Targaryens used wildfire in battle?"

"No." Arya replied.

"That is because they did not. After Aegon the III, the Targaryens had no dragons. So they commissioned the Alchemist Guild to produce wildfire. The pyromancers built Aegon the Unworthy seven dragons out of wood and steel. full of pumps and tubes to shoot jets of wildfire. They meant to invade Dorne. It was a terrible failure. The dragons exploded in the kingswood, burning everyone alive." Jon said.

"What went wrong?" Arya said.

"Many things but the simplest point is that when wildfire is hot, it explodes into flame. Dorne is the hottest region of Westeros. Aegon the Unworthy was an idiot, and the Alchemist's Guild are a pack of fools." Jon said.

"But are we going to use wildfire against the Lannisters?" Arya said.

"Yes, but not how they expect. Surprise is the best weapon. We cannot simply burn everything. For one, wildfire is treacherous and difficult to wield. A sharp wind, and the flames will turn on the user. And two, I swore an oath to Owen Fossoway that no Tyrells would die." Jon said.

"But Jon, if we can kill Joffrey or Tywin.."

"That would be tempting. But an oath is an oath. I gave Owen my word. I would keep it if I can. Without our honor, we are not better than our enemies." Jon said.

"The Lannisters have no honor. They pushed Bran off the wall. They beheaded Father. If they could, they would burn us all to death with wildfire." Arya complained.

"We are not the Lannisters, and I will not let them do that. If they harmed you, I would make them suffer. And if they killed you, I would burn the castle down to the ground. All their castles. The Red Keep. Casterly Rock. The Golden Tooth. Every stone House Lannister claimed from here to the Sunset Sea. But let us not worry about that. We have much to do." Jon scratched a crude map on the sand. "Do you know where we are?"

"The Dragonpit. I saw the light coming down through the dome." Arya said.

"Right - the Pit is on Rhaenys' Hill, next to Flea Bottom and the Street of Silk. Study the tunnels from here to the Red Keep until you can walk them with ease. When you escape with Sansa, you must be swift and certain in your steps." Jon said.

"You won't be with us?" Arya asked.

"No, I have another role to play. We will meet at the docks. You are the only one I trust with our sister." Jon said.

Arya nodded. She was not afraid of the dark. She thought carefully about the route to freedom. The three headed dragon mosaic. The chamber of dragon skulls. The tunnels of unfinished stone that curved west. The exit into the Street of Silk. She would not fail Sansa.

* * *

Tyrion looked out the window as the carriage turned right on the Street of the Sisters. The servants were both foreigners from the Free Cities. The driver's accent marked him as a Braavosi but only the Seven knew where Varys had found the other henchman - a hairless man whose face was tattooed with green tiger stripes. Some hellhole, no doubt.

"Where are we going? Could you not have answered my question at the Red Keep?" he asked.

"Pardon, my Lord Hand. But sometimes, a face is worth a thousand words." The eunuch tittered as they stopped at a bright well-lit building, redolent sweet perfume. A man played the pipes behind the leaded windows, obscuring the sounds of false laughter.

"A brothel? I am quite capable of finding my own whores." Tyrion said.

"Indeed? I have heard that others find whores for you." Varys glided from the carriage. He stepped to one side as he opened the door.

The room was dark and mostly empty, with many of the working girls sleeping off last night's excesses. A small mockingbird sigil was engraved in the wood door, and ornate screens of half dressed women dominated the common room. A dark haired doe-eyed girl jested with a fat merchant on a richly cushioned divan, pouring out a large goblet of purple mine. The girl was short, slim and pretty and Tyrion remembered when that smile, half shy, half wicked, had been directed at him.

"Shae. What is she doing here?" Tyrion asked as the eunuch closed the door noiselessly. The carriage began the trip back to the Red Keep before Varys spoke again.

"You asked me earlier what Baelish's game was. That is it. He found your mistress, and brought her back to King's Landing."

"Hardly a mistress. I had a whore at camp to share my bed. That is true for most lords."

"It is not the girl. It is the song she sings to Baelish. You told her about your first wife."

Tyrion's brow wrinkled. One night, when he was drunker than usual, he had told Bronn and Shae about the whore that pretended to be a crofter's daughter, and his father's displeasure. But why should that matter to Baelish? "What of it? That was many years ago."

Varys looked at him quizzically. "You were married to her by a septon?"

"Yes but only for a fortnight. My father made sure of that." Tyrion said.

"You are not Aegon the Conqueror. You cannot be married to two women."

"But my father said the marriage was undone." a befuddled Tyrion said.

"Ah to be young and foolish." Varys spoke languidly, like a teacher to a particularly slow but well liked child. "There are four ways the Faith of the Seven allows a marriage to end. The king can set it aside. The High Septon or his Council of Faith can annul the vows. The bride can join the Silent Sisters. Or you can join the Night's Watch and freeze to death on the Wall. I assume you do not intend to take the black?"

"The septons claimed it was as if we had never wed." Tyrion exclaimed.

"Your father's septons? They are not the Most Devout, I am afraid. Only the High Septon or the King can absolve your marriage. Now the late unlamented septon was fat and corrupt, and a gift to the Faith would be enough to make him do your bidding. But the High Sparrow has been chosen and he is no puppet. He could declare your marriage invalid." Varys said.

"Baelish would not dare speak to the High Septon. He knows that he cannot afford to provoke my Lord father." Tyrion said.

"Littlefinger is not accusing you. He wants others to do that. That is why he spoke to Joffrey about your first marriage. That is why Shae works at his brothel. Who else will she tell? When the crumbs litter the ground, the birds will peck and find the trail. Joffrey, your sister, the Tyrells - they will know soon enough. And they may tell the High Sparrow." Varys said.

"So the Faith and other Lords think badly of me. What else is new? They already call me a demon monkey behind my back. I am a Lannister. My name will protect me." Tyrion said.

"Even the Targaryens had trouble with the Faith. Your father may be feared now but how long will that last? The new High Septon could order you arrested and put on trial for bigamy. What if Littlefinger finds a whore who claims to be Tysha?" Varys said.

"Then Baelish is a liar." Tyrion said.

"Of course he is. But it would be your word against hers. My little birds tell me that a procession of whores will attend your wedding. Among them will be Shae and other ladies of the night. Perhaps the septon will think one of them is Tysha." Varys said.

Tyrion scoffed. "Tysha does not look like Shae. My wife was no courtesan. And how would a whore make it to the Red Keep during a wedding?"

"Your nephew is King. He would enjoy humiliating you. Joffrey might not put you on trial himself. But he would laugh if you were dragged down by a whore. All Baelish needs to do is to cover his tracks, and let others accuse you." Varys said.

Tyrion grimaced. He would clearly need to pay Baelish back for his schemes. No doubt Petyr had secrets that he did not want divulged, and henchmen that Tyrion could interrogate. Even his never ending sources of gold could be investigated. How had Baelish raised so much gold?

"What do you think of the Martells, my Lord?" Varys said, interrupting their thoughts.

"What about them?" Tyrion said warily.

"Why are there so many of them in the city?" Varys asked.

"So many? There is only one, and he has already created a nuisance at Chataya's. Bronn told me that Oberyn Martell nearly killed Reginald Lannister - one of my distant relatives. Although uncle Reginald would be no loss to my family." Tyrion said.

"One Martell but many, many Sands. Oberyn bought his paramour, and several Sand Snakes. Does that not strike you as odd?" The eunuch's eyes bore down upon him, like a spider watching a fly.

"He is here to claim a seat on a Small Council." Tyrion said.

"Do you really think the Red Viper cares a fig about being Master of Laws? What is his post on the Small Council, anyway?" Varys said.

"I am not certain. He has been too busy exploring our brothels to attend any meetings. And the Tyrells claim we promised two posts on the Small Council. Between those promised to the Reach, Baelish and yourself, we have no open spots" Tyrion said

"You should wonder about Dorne. Since Princess Elia's death, they have wanted nothing to do with the Iron Throne. And now the Red Viper shows up, with many companions. I would watch the Martells carefully, my lord." Varys said.

Tyrion nodded gloomily. Another thing to do after the wedding.

* * *

Sansa Stark handed the sweet biscuits to Jeyne Poole. The high tea with Lady Margaery and her ladies had been lavish - lemon cakes frosted in sugar and baked apples drowning in cinnamon and honey. Servant boys had rushed about with teapots shaped like swans and platters of strawberries and sweetgrass. All the wealth and bounty of the Reach were on display, and her clothes could not match the finery of the samite green gown of the Tyrell girl.

"Thank you, my lady." Jeyne said, taking a bite of the soft flaky shortbread.

"I would have brought you lemon tarts, but they are too hard to carry." Sansa said.

The two girls sat in a comfortable silence. Only a few moons ago, Sansa expected her best friend to attend her wedding as a honored guest. Now that would be impossible. Littlefinger had shattered Jeyne's spirit, along with her maidenhead. Scars criss-crossed her back, the marks of training at the brothel. Many nights, Sansa went to sleep to the sound of faint sobbing. The girl who giggled at the Hand's Tourney over Lord Beric's gallantry was gone.

Sansa placed her right hand over Jeyne's left arm. They would survive somehow. She would protect her friend. She would bring the light back to Jeyne's hollow eyes. The girl smiled back, and Sansa poured two glasses of buttermilk to wash down the biscuits.

A knock rang out. The door opened, and Brienne walked through in dented blue armor. Behind her, Ser Osmund sniggered and Ser Loras averted his eyes. The Hound had no expression.

"My lady, may I speak to you privately?" Brienne said in a halting voice.

Sansa nodded and Jeyne retreated into a bed closet. Brienne waited, and then handed her a long cloth. Sansa opened the red and blue bolt, and wondered why anyone would waste silver thread on a dumpy and poorly embroidered frog. "What is this, Ser?"

"A gift from Lady Stark - for you to wear on your wedding day."

Was that supposed to be a trout on a field of red mud? The fins looked more like a frog's forelegs. "My lady mother… Is this supposed to be the sigil of House Tully?"

Brienne nodded. "I know the trout isn't very well done but Owen Fossoway was insistent that you receive it."

Her mother would have never knitted crooked stitches. Sansa knew only one person capable of such terrible needlework - Arya. Her mind swam with the possibilities. Did Arya send the scarf to King's Landing? "What were his exact words?"

"He didn't say much. Lady Catelyn gave him the cloth at the God's Eye. She desired that you wear this at your betrothal." Brienne stammered.

"That was all he said?" she asked.

"I tried to ask more, Lady Sansa. I really did - but he only repeated that Lady Catelyn gave him the cloth and desired you to wear this at your betrothal. I pointed out that while this could cover your head, it was hardly a maiden's cloak. I don't see how you can wear this at the wedding without giving insult to the Lannisters." A flustered Brienne said.

Arya had told everyone that she would never marry. But their lady mother had instructed both of them on the details of a wedding ceremony. Her sister knew that the correct maiden's cloak would be the Stark dire wolf, not the Tully trout. And this Fossoway received this scarf at the God's Eye where her brothers had just won a victory. A spark of hope grew in Sansa's chest. She handed the needlework back to Brienne.

"Ser, find Owen Fossoway and return this to him. Tell him I cannot wear the sign of my mother's house. The Lannisters will not allow me to wear the Stark dire wolf." Sansa rooted about her wedding garments for the sample the seamstress had left. With a knife, she hacked off a piece of the maiden's cloak. "Give this to him. Tell him that I shall wear this as a cloak and a veil at my wedding."

"But why would Fossoway …"

Sansa's voice sharpened. "Lady Brienne, will you keep the oath that you swore to my mother?"

Brienne nodded. "I pledged my sword and service. I will give my life for yours, if need be."

"Good. Then follow these orders. Do not speak to anyone but Owen Fossoway. Make certain no one else hears my message." Sansa handed Brienne a strip of cloth, light grey on ice white.

* * *

They heard laughter from many of the rooms and windows of the brothel. An ornate lanthorn of gilded brass and scarlet glass hung over the entrance, casting a garish pink light on the cobbled streets. Guards in the flowing yellow robes of Dorne watched girls in flowing silks prance in and out of the two story structure.

"Do all Dornish people spend so much time at the brothels?" Arya complained.

"Well, Oberyn Martell has quite the reputation, with both men and women. He has eight bastard daughters." Jon said.

"Does he really need to bring his daughters to Chataya's?" Arya said.

"Oberyn Martell is not ashamed of going to a brothel. I doubt the Sand Snakes care either. The maesters think the salty Dornish follow their Rhoynish blood. Mother Rhoyne had many lovers, like the Great Turtle and the Crab King." Jon said.

Arya wrinkled her nose. "I did not need to know that."

"You asked, sister." Jon said. "Are you ready?"

Arya nodded. She pushed the cart forward. "Lemon Tarts. Lemon Tarts." she cried. The House Martell guards ignored her, but the painted ladies happily threw her copper stars. Some even gave a silver stag. Arya made her way past the entrance into a room full of mosaics of women engaged in acts that would have met with the full approval of the Rhoynar. Arya sold her lemon tarts with a smile, speaking to no one unless she was spoken to first. She was just a street rat, looking to make a few coppers. She kept her eyes at waist level, looking for a girl or boy with skin the color of teak. Her cart was almost empty when a tall angry woman with her long brown hair bound in a rat tail stood up to confront her.

"You, boy - are you one of Varys' little birds?" Obara Sand called out. A long spear clattered by her sandalled feet.

"That's not a boy. That's a girl." A tall lady in lilac robes tinged with cream and copper said in a bored tone. "Why are you here?"

The third Sand Snake fanned herself with pale soft hands. "Oh, leave her alone. The poor girl merely wants to make a few coppers. I love lemon tarts, sweetling."

Arya offered a tart to the lady in the green and white gown. Then she scurried away, making for the exit, until she saw a flash of skin smooth as polished ebony. Arya followed until she reached an alcove with a white feather bed. The girl was extraordinarily pretty, dressed in flowing yellow silks with a beaded gold belt that matched the gilded collar at the neck. She was as tall as Sansa with wide eyes and skin darker than teak.

"I am looking for Alleras." Arya blurted out.

The young girl smiled. "Oh, are you learning how to read as well?"

"Yes. Do you know where Alleras is?" Arya said.

"Right here." A comely youth in green and brown said. His skin was the color of nut brown ale, lighter than the girl's polished jet. "Yaya, I have two books for you." He handed her two slim tomes. "The second is an exercise workbook to copy words as you pronounce them."

"Thank you!" There was a sweetness about the whore, and a genuine interest in the books. "Do you want to share?" She said to Arya.

"Alayaya, let me speak to her in private."

The Summer Island girl left, leaving them alone. Alleras looked amused. "You look just like him. You have the same long face and grey eyes."

"What did you send to the Riverlands?" Arya hissed.

Alleras laughed. "And the same cunning. The Sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler."

"He wants to see you outside. Meet us at sunset at the eastern door of the Dragonpit." The Sphinx nodded, handing her three coppers for the last unsold tart. Arya made her way out of Chataya's and ditched the cart before heading south to the harbor to meet Jon.

* * *

The setting sun shone through the charred walls, forming strange misshapen windows on the upper levels of the Dragonpit. The great dome had collapsed long ago, and the cavernous interior was one giant mess, with much of the tumbled stone scavenged for graveyards, septs, manses, and buildings elsewhere in King's Landing. The bronze clamps which had held the stonework together were pried or hacked out and the only remaining iron jutted into the sky, like a dragon's wings. It was a cruel jape, Jon thought. Had the Pit been open to the sky on that fateful day, some of the royal dragons might have escaped. Instead, they all died at the hands of crazed smallfolk led by an even more deranged prophet. A dragon should never be chained.

Arya perched over the eastern gate, peering suspiciously into the growing darkness. The great doors had been sealed for over a century, and smallfolk and highborn alike believed the building to be cursed. For good reason, Jon thought, as he gazed over the blackened ruins and the ashes left by the massive destruction. The dragonpit was haunted by death and fire. Only a few desperate whores from Flea Bottom entertained clients nearby, and none did so inside the Pit.

"Someone is coming. Alone." Arya said.

A hunched over begging brother in roughspun shabby robes approached, tapping a stout quarterstaff, like a blind man probing for obstacles. Jon tossed down the twisted rope ladder purchased that afternoon from a ship chandler. The robed figure strapped the staff to his back and climbed up gracefully, taking Jon's hand for the dismount. The Sphinx' comely face emerged from the brown cowl.

"How did you know?" Alleras said.

"Your quarterstaff is polished wood. It would have been stolen from you in Flea Bottom." Jon pulled up the ladder. "Alleras, this is my…

"Your sister, Arya Stark. We have met." She spoke with a soft Dornish drawl.

"Were you followed?" Jon said in a more serious voice.

"I spotted the spies outside Chataya's. I lost them in Flea Bottom. But Varys knows of me. He found me in Eel Alley two days after I sent the wooden sphinx to you in the Riverlands."

"How much does Varys know?" Jon said.

"I have been careful to avoid his little birds but I posed as a trader from Lys. I sailed to King's Landing from Planky Town and Hull and his spies may discover that. And Varys also guessed that I was a woman." Alleras said.

"Does he know that you are a Martell?" Jon asked.

"Why would he know that?" Alleras said.

"You came from Dorne. His spies are watching Oberyn Martell and your sisters at Chataya's. And he knows that you are only pretending to be a man." Jon said.

"Perhaps but Varys relies on little birds - young boys and girls. They are not allowed inside Chataya's. And I have only sent messages to my father and sisters through Alayaya and others. I have not spoken to them directly." Alleras said.

"Petyr Baelish is a whoremonger. Could his spies be aware of you?" Jon asked.

"At Chataya's?" Alleras shook her head. "Chataya is my mother's sister. My father gave her the money to start fifteen years ago. Baelish has tried many times to buy her out. Chataya's is one of the safest places in King's Landing from both Varys and Baelish."

Arya's eyes popped. "Is that girl related to you?"

"Alayaya - yes, she is my cousin. A sweet girl and quite clever. I am teaching her how to read."

"But she is a whore." Arya said, surprised.

"Love making is not scorned in the Summer Isles. There is no shame to serve at a pillow house after a maiden or a youth has flowered. Pleasure is a gift from the Gods." Alleras said.

Jon chuckled. "The Summer Islanders make the Dornish seem like the Northmen."

The Sphinx smiled enigmaticly. "You know nothing. But enough about the Summer Isles. Why are you here in King's Landing, Jon Snow?"

"Why do you think?" Jon said.

"You came here to rescue your sister, Lady Sansa. You were not invited but you plan to attend the wedding."

"Perhaps. But why are you here, Alleras? Why did you come to King's Landing?" Jon said.

"I landed in Sunspear when Edric Dayne arrived with Amory Lorch. We want what Dorne has always wanted - revenge for the death of Elia Martell and her children." Alleras said.

"What did Lorch say?" Jon said.

"Tywin Lannister gave orders to kill Aegon and Rhaenys. That would allow him to declare fealty with Robert Baratheon and make his daughter queen." Alleras said.

Jon turned, his eyes sweeping over the husk of the Dragonpit. His brother and sister were murdered to win political favor for House Lannister. He tried not to think about his dreams of Rhaenys. "What of Elia Martell?"

"Lorch claims there were no orders on Princess Elia. Gregor Clegane did that on his own. Elia Martell fought desperately to save Aegon but Clegane killed him and raped her." Alleras said.

"Who else knew? Who else besides Lorch and Clegane?" Jon said.

"I don't know. Do you suspect others?" Alleras said.

"At Riverrun, I asked Jaime Lannister. He said he would have defended the royal children with his life. But Varys was in King's Landing. Did he know? How did the Lannisters get into the city? And how did Lorch and Clegane get into Maegor's Holdfast?" Jon asked.

"Lorch says he scaled the walls of the Holdfast." Alleras said.

Arya snorted. "Amory Lorch? He is fatter than Fat Tom, and older."

"He was younger during the Rebellion but Arya is right. The walls of the Holdfast are high and thick. Did Princess Elia have any guards? Even a few men could defend Maegor's against an army." Jon said.

"They killed all of her retainers. Her companions, her ladies-in-waiting, her guards. Anyone who could tell the truth about her murder was slain." Alleras said.

"Not everyone. Varys must know." Jon said. "He has spies all over the Red Keep."

"Who can trust the Spider? Who knows the extent of his plots or lies? He whispers to Uncle Doran that he would help the Martells. It has been sixteen years. Nothing has been done. Justice delayed is justice denied." Alleras spat.

"It might be too late for justice, but not for revenge. Princess Elia's story is not over." Jon said.

"What can I do to help?" Alleras said.

"How many little birds are watching you?" Jon asked.

"Hard to say. There are urchins everywhere in King's Landing. I see them on the docks, in the fish market, at the Blushing Maiden, near the Sept of Baelor, and on the walk to Chataya's. I only spot them when they start to follow." Alleras said.

"Let them follow you. We need to flush out the Spider." Jon said.

* * *

Most of King's Landing reeked of piss and sweat but the forges of the Street of Steel chased the stench away. A strong clean odor hung thick over the hill - honest smoke from charcoal mixed with the fires of coal dust and molten iron and steel. As Jon walked up, the streets widened, the beggars disappeared, and the buildings grew sturdier and refined. Ironmongers peddled old blades, horseshoes and tools at the bottom of the hill. In the middle, blacksmiths banged out shields and mail shirts at open forges. But the peak was reserved for the finest armorers who dealt in suits of polished plate armor. Everywhere, there was the clang of the anvil, the whoosh of the bellows, and blasts of hot air heavy with sulfur and limestone.

The Street of Steel had profited from the war. The hill bustled with young serving girls and hard working apprentices. Signs for jewelers, silversmiths and goldsmiths abounded. Those shops would gild and adorn armor, shields, and swords with gems, gold and silver filigree, roaring lions, silver trout, and golden roses. Jon was of the North. Steel was meant for battle, not parties. He ducked into a narrow street between two smithies. A large green placard twisted in the wind, inscribed with a jester of unusual height juggling knives. Jon entered the inn.

The Jester's Green brought back fond memories of the Quill and Tankard in Oldtown. Cheerful serving wenches exchanged tankards of wine, ale, and cider for silver stags and copper stars. Seamen, smiths, and singers swapped bawdy tales and stories. The food was good here - beef stew bubbling in a large cauldron over the fire, fowls roasting on spits, and onion soup served in hollowed out bread. Jon gave the blushing young girl a smile and two silver stags for mugs of ale, toasted bread and cheese, and two seats near the roaring fire.

"The cider here tastes worse than piss." A sturdy brown haired man sat down to his right.

Jon handed over the tankard of ale. "And how would you know what piss tastes like?"

Owen Fossoway laughed, but his eyes roamed the taproom to make certain they would not be overheard. When he was satisfied, Owen took out a long red and blue bolt and a short strip of gray and white. "Brienne gave me these. She spoke to Sansa Stark. Lady Sansa declared that she could not wear a cloak of House Tully and that the Lannisters would not allow her to wear the Stark dire wolf."

Jon nodded. "What is the other cloth?"

"Sansa Stark cut that piece from her maiden cloak. She says that she plans to wear a cloak and veil of these colors. And Jon, Sansa demanded that Brienne tell me only when no one else could hear." Owen said, having over the gray and white cloth.

"Did Brienne say anything else?"

"That she would protect Sansa, or die trying. Then she glared at me, like I was at fault for not telling her more." Owen said.

Jon nodded. Whatever her faults, Brienne was loyal. She was more of a true knight than those with great names or expensive armor. He threw the Tully sigil into the flames, and watched as the fire consumed Arya's handiwork. "Tell me what you have found out."

"The wedding is in four days' time. The banquet will be held at the Small Hall of the Tower of the Hand but the marriage will be elsewhere. What do you know of the Red Keep?" Owen said.

Through Balerion's eyes, Jon had explored extensively the network of tunnels and the hallways of the castle. The black tom prowled with impunity. Still, three days was not enough to uncover all the secrets of the Red Keep. "Just tell me everything. Leave nothing out."

"The Red Keep has a central set of stairs that separates the two levels. The Tower of the Hand, Maegor's Holdfast, the Small Council and the courtyards are below the steps. The Great Hall with the Iron Throne, the White Sword Tower,the godswood, the Maidenvault, and the Royal Sept are above the steps. Tyrion and Sansa will walk from the Tower of the Hand to be married in the Royal Sept. Only after the wedding is done, will they go back to the Small Hall for the banquet." Owen said.

"So, they walk up the steps in the afternoon, and then return down the steps near sundown."

Owen nodded. He looked eager to say more.

"What is in the Royal Sept?" Jon asked.

"The usual. Seven walls for the seven aspects of the Faith. There are candles on each altar, and a burning brazier in the center." Owen answered.

"And who is guarding Sansa?"

"She has four main guards. One of regular size - Loras Tyrell - and three giants. Brienne. Ser Osmund Kettleblack. And the Hound." Owen said.

"Kettleblack? Who is he?" Jon said.

"Some lackey of Cersei. They say the Queen wishes him to join the white cloaks. Big, broad, dumb as a stump."

"As tall as Clegane?" Jon asked.

"No one is the size of the Clegane brothers. Kettleblack is as tall and broad as Brienne. And his sigil is a fucking black kettle."

Jon smiled. "Your coat of arms is a red apple."

"Apples are important. They feed people. They are the best fruit, a gift of the Seven to the Reach. A red apple is much better than a black kettle."

"If you say so, Owen. How many will attend the wedding?"

"The royal sept can only hold a hundred comfortably. But that is not the most interesting thing. There are stories about Tyrion Lannister, that he is still married to a Lannisport whore. So King Joffrey intends to bring whores to the castle, to shame his uncle." Owen blurted out.

"Whores to attend a wedding in the Red Keep? Surely they will not be allowed into the sept."

"The whores would not be allowed in the Great Hall or the Sept. But on the way to the Sept, there are courtyards and a lower bailey. It will be a Walk of Shame - to show that the Imp is a whoremonger." Owen said.

"How many whores do they plan to bring?" a shocked Jon asked.

"I do not know. The Tyrells, Lannisters and Martells will be in the sept but there are hundreds, perhaps thousands more in the keep. Lordlings, knights, guards, servants, even wealthy merchants. They will line the hallways and corridors in the lower castle." Owen said.

Jon shook his head. "Why would Tywin Lannister allow such a thing?"

"To teach his son a lesson. To show that despite the defeats in the Riverlands, he is still a man to be feared. If he would do such a thing to his son, what will he do to his enemies?" Owen said.

"Cruelty is not strength. Lord Tywin has been fortunate in his enemies." Jon said. "Luck is a two sided coin."

"Tywin Lannister may be harsh but Garlan believes the plot was hatched by Joffrey. He is a cruel boy." Owen said.

"Where will you be during the wedding?"

"In the royal sept. House Fossoway is not a great house but we are loyal bannermen to the Tyrells. I will be seated with Ser Garlan and his wife, behind Lord Mace and Lady Olenna."

"And what of Lady Margaery?"

"She will attend at Joffrey's side. In a few moons, she will be Queen." Owen said.

Jon kicked the ashes of the Tully sigil deeper into the fire. He wondered where the Red Viper and the Sand Snakes would sit in the sept.

* * *

Breakfast was coarse barley bread and a hunk of ripe cheese, washed down with watered down ale. They woke before sunrise and made their way South through darkened tunnels to a trail besides the river. A light drizzle covered the city, although no one cared about the fog and damp near the wharves and Fishmonger Square. Later, the streets near the River Gate would be thronged with urchins, smallwives and soldiers but in the early light, the market had yet to truly wake. Oystermen, herring sellers, cod wives and shrimpers were setting up stalls, preparing for the morning rush of stewards, cooks and sailors. Jon and Arya made their way north, a few Winter Town boys trailing discreetly in their wake.

The Blushing Maiden did not quite deserve the risque name. No tumult of wild revelers or loud minstrels or dancing ladies greeted them. Jon could see why Alleras had chosen this inn as her base. It was a comfortable place, suitable for easy conversation, peaceful gossip, and the exchange of news by travelers, far from the hurly burly of the docks. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the windows of the taproom.

"I bet that is one of them." Arya whispered, pointing to a dark haired boy with bruises over his face. Jon wondered who had beaten him. "There is another one." She had spotted a short girl, hiding under a wagon wheel with a noticeable limp. One leg was clearly shorter than the other.

"We will see when Alleras starts." Jon said.

The Sphinx came out, leading a black mare with a mane and tail the color of fire. An orange saddlebag held a rather conspicuous note sealed by the golden spear of House Martell.

"Rather an obvious trap." Arya said.

"The little birds do not know that." Jon placed the spyglass to his eye. "My guess is that Varys trained them to steal ledgers, charts and letters. And with the sigil of House Martell, they will run to inform the eunuch immediately."

"What is in the letter?" Arya asked.

"A map of the Red Mountains. It shows the numbers of Dornish troops massing on the Boneway and the Prince's Pass. From there, they can march to the Stormlands and the Reach." Jon said.

"Is the letter true?"

"Who knows? The Dornish love to exaggerate their numbers. And the three Kingdoms have been fighting over the marches for hundreds of years. It is all rather stupid. There are a few fertile meadows and hidden valleys but the Red Mountains are barren lands with few people."

Alleras mounted the horse and the short girl hobbled out into her path. When Alleras slowed and threw the girl a copper penny, the dark haired boy scurried over and lifted the letter. The Sphinx prepared to ride, seeming oblivious to the theft. As the sand steed cantered down the street, a different boy in threadbare clothes followed.

"Chett and Clydas, the two of you go after the Sphinx on the Street of Sisters. Find the other little birds." Jon said. "Arry and I will chase down the letter."

"Look, there is another man following Alleras." Chett pointed to a tall man in purple robes, mounted on a brown palfrey. Jon frowned. Those robes were trimmed with ermine.

"Who is that?" Arya hissed.

Jon looked through the spyglass. The man had a narrow face with dark intelligent eyes. He had been waiting in the shadows of the stable for the Sphinx to leave. "I don't think he is one of the Spider's spies. Those robes are far too expensive."

The little birds split up. The girl stumbled into an alley to the left. The boy following Alleras stepped onto a wagon, then climbed up a ramshackle building. He ran along the rooftops north. The thief ducked to the right, heading toward the Red Keep.

"My Lord, there are too many. Chett and I can't track all of them." Clydas said.

"He looks unarmed. I will find out who the man on the horse is." Arya declared.

"Fine. Meet you back at the Blushing Maiden. And Arry - don't get into trouble." Jon added.

* * *

The dark haired boy went up the Hook, the narrow street that linked the Muddy Way near the docks to Aegon's High Hill. The Red Keep loomed in the distance to the Northeast. If the boy went past the castle guards, Jon would lose him. Before he decided to attempt to summon Balerion, the little bird raced to God's Way. Instead of heading east to the Great Sept, the boy hurried north, past manses and arbors. Finally, the boy slipped through the gates of a graveyard at the very tip of the city. The waves of Blackwater Bay smashed loudly against rocks north of the city walls.

Jon slowed down. In much of King's Landing, the morning fog had been burnt off by the sun. Here, the fog was thin but still wreathed the stones and tombs and funerary plaques. A solitary evergreen tree stood alone leaning on a cenotaph. Through the spyglass, he could barely read the weather worn words - To The Best Hand A King Has Ever Known. In another time, a memorial to Septon Barth would have interested him but Jon's telescope was focused on the figure who had walked out of a nearby vault - a stout man wearing mail and boiled leather who dropped the unlit torch to the earth as he read the purloined letter. The scarred and stubbled face was hidden by a brown cowl but Jon had no doubts of the identity. This was the Spider that Arya has seen in the tunnels below the Red Keep.

Varys tittered, his soft white hands patting the little bird on the head. The boy eagerly accepted a small rough wool pouch and filched out a small purple object, popping it into a dirty mouth. Jon looked more intently. It was a candied plum. The eunuch handed over two reddish brown coins, and then dismissed his little bird. The boy ran off before Varys tapped a stone, and disappeared back into the vault.

The spider was feared throughout the Seven Kingdoms for his vast network and skills at unearthing secrets. Yet he paid his spies with candied plums and copper coins. Jon had no doubt there were other spies, perhaps knights or serving wenches but the children that fluttered on the streets of King's Landing and in the secret tunnels received virtually nothing - a pat on the hand, sweets, and a few small coins. And some of these children had been mutilated, while others starved, were beaten or died young.

The graveyard lay between the Iron Gate and the Red Keep. Three days was not enough time to discover all of Maegor's secrets but Balerion had measured out the six tunnels leading from the Tower of the Hand. No passage came this far north. No passage exited in a cemetery. Somehow, one of the spies had sent a message, and the Spider had come out of the Red Keep to meet the boy. Jon waited patiently until he was certain the eunuch was long gone to tap the panel, and enter the tunnel.

It was a long silent walk in the dark. There were no doors, or traps, or levers hidden in the walls and no places to hide and eavesdrop. The passage did not connect with any others under the Red Keep. Instead, it terminated in a single door. Then Jon understood. Maegor wanted no rats in his own walls. There was only one secret passage reserved for the Targaryen kings, and Varys knew. The Spider knew how to enter and escape the Holdfast. He had not informed Princess Elia or saved Rhaenys. Jon thought long and hard on the return back to the graveyard.

* * *

Jon found Arya wandering near the bottom of the Street of Street, her interest piqued by the exotic weapon hanging on a wooden rack with other more mundane swords. It had a long crescent moon shaped blade with a thick handle, half sword and half scythe.

"That is a Dothraki arakh." Jon said, slipping behind his sister.

"Is it useful in battle?" Arya asked.

"The Dothraki certainly believe so. A curved blade can sweep down, so with the force of a charge, the arakh can inflict great damage. But it has drawbacks when fighting on foot. Good armor is only vulnerable at a few points - the neck, the eyes, the armpit and the joints. Thrusting is easier than slicing on the battlefield. Deadlier too." Jon said.

"So stick them with the pointy end." Arya said.

"That is how the water dancers fight." Jon said.

"Chett and the others are still looking. They have found a dozen little birds, so far."

"And what about you?" Jon said.

"The man in purple followed Alleras for a while but left her near Flea Bottom. He went to the Street of Silver instead. I caught his name when he spoke to the owner of the Silver Eel - Tycho Nestoris. He serves the Iron Bank." Arya said.

"The Iron Bank of Braavos? What is he doing in King's Landing?" Jon asked.

"Not gambling. He took out a small lacquered box, and disappeared behind a heavy guarded door. He left the Eel only ten minutes later." Arya said.

"Was there any expression on his face? Did he still have the box?" Jon asked.

Arya scrunched her nose. "I think I saw the outline of the box in his saddlebag. There was a tiny hint of anger but he remained calm, like Father before he was executed."

"That is very strange. Men who serve the Iron Bank do nothing without reason." Jon said. He remembered Archmaester Matthar's History of the Iron Bank.

"Couldn't he just be collecting some debt?" Arya said.

"The Iron Bank lends to princes and kings. They would not send a banker from Braavos because a shopkeeper could not pay. Tycho Nestoris must be here only because the interests of the Iron Bank are at stake. All the gambling dens on the Street of Silver are nothing compared to a single vault of the Iron Bank." Jon said.

"So what does this all mean?" Arya said.

"I don't know. There are too many plots in this city. And we have too little time. We can't unravel all the mysteries of King's Landing but I found the Spider with his little bird. He is the man you overheard six moons ago." Jon stopped to collect his thoughts before continuing. "We have only three days left - and a great deal to do. Let's go north. We have a purchase to make."

"I thought Chett and Clydas were dealing with that."

"They have their orders. But we need something else."

After a long walk, they arrived at the Street of Flour, the sweet smell of sugar, honey and molasses permeating the air. Below the Street, children begging for bowls of brown in the maze of twisted alleys of Flea Bottom. Buildings leaned over, exhausted, on their last legs and seemingly ready to fall. Arya turned her head away.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked. "Bad memories. I killed pigeons here on these cobbled stones. I was so hungry. And I was one of the lucky ones. I didn't starve." Arya said. The Hill of Rhaenys separated the wealthy lords facing the Red Keep from the slumdogs dwelling in the Bottom.

"You survived." Jon said.

"Some of these children won't. They say King's Landing is the wealthiest city in the Seven Kingdoms. So why are so many so poor?" Arya complained.

It was a hard question. Men starved in the North from famine and poor harvests. But in King's Landing, a noble could eat lamprey pie, honeyed ham and roast swan stuffed with mushrooms and oysters while servants had only stale bread to eat. The poor in Flea Bottom had even less.

Jon shrugged. "We cannot change the past, only the future. But we can feed children. I hear they like candied plums. Let us buy all the bags that the bakers will sell."

* * *

Arya shuffled on the balls of her feet, both legs bent, and then lunged. The target dangled from the ceiling of the vault under the Dragonpit, illuminated by a solitary torch. Needle stabbed through the visor of the greathelm and broke the links of the mail coif underneath. The short and slender rapier was not strong enough to penetrate through the back of the helm.

Jon raised his head at his sister's grimace. "It is unlikely he will wear a full helm at the wedding. If he does, slitting the throat will be easier."

She chewed her lip. "I just want to make sure I do this correctly."

Jon sighed. "I wish I didn't have to ask this of you. But we will need multiple ways out, and I am playing another role." He was filling the handle of a silver and gold stick and ball with wildfire. The holes on the mace like ball were sealed with cork.

"It is a good plan. Don't worry about me. I have killed before." Arya said firmly. Her brother nodded and returned to his task. Satchels full of wildfire rested on the sand.

And it was a good plan. The wildfire in the casks had been put into place. The goods had been purchased. The Winter Town Boys had their orders. The** Wolf Wind** and her sister ships were ready to sail. Arya knew the secret tunnels as well as the crypt of Winterfell. She was certain she could find her way even in the dark. As for Alleras, Owen, Brienne and Jeyne, she trusted her brother's judgment. Her only concern was House Martell. That night, Jon had instructed the Sphinx to speak with her family. Alleras did not know the details of their plans, but Jon wanted her to warn them about the pending chaos. "Jon, are you certain you can trust the Dornish?" Arya said in a hesitant voice.

"Trust them? No. But I am sure they want to kill Lannisters. Oberyn Martell has waited 16 years for revenge for his sister. We will give him the opportunity." Jon said.

"But will he play his role? Or will he do something foolish?"

Jon shrugged. "Alleras says her father is considered half mad. And that is by the Dornish, who are proud to be hot blooded. We have planned as much as we can. The Martells give us the best chance of freeing Sansa. Remember - the most important thing, the only thing - is that you and Sansa return safely to Robb."

Arya would have protested but she yawned. It was hard work moving casks about in the dark.

"Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a big day. One that will be remembered for a long time." Arya closed her eyes as her brother continued to work with the black tom at his side.

**Author's Notes**

Balerion the cat does not fear Balerion the dragon. When she is lost, Arya encounters the three skulls - presumably Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar - in the tunnels.

Astute readers have pointed out that children who could read or write would be quite rare - likely only maesters and noble children were taught. And it is not credible you spend years teaching a child to read and write, and then cut their tongue out. But maybe Essos, like ancient Greece, had more of a tradition of learning. In any case, I personally think Varys and Ilyrio are monsters. Anybody complicit in the death or mutilation of kids have committed heinous crimes. Even if GRRM delights in showing redemption stories after attacking kids - Jaime shoves Bran (10) out the window. Theon kills and mutilates the two miller's sons. (Bran and Rickon's age). That doesn't include Ollie, Shireen. Myrcella.

Warging is really unexplored in the stories. Arya has her dreams of Nymeria and she wargs into a cat in Braavos. Varamyr Sixskins claims that Jon could be a powerful warg but he never made any real impression in the story.

Tyrion does very little to cover up his great secret. In the books, he tells Bronn first when they are escaping the Eyrie. Then he tells Shae after he slaps her for mocking him. She is trying to get him to sneak her into the Tower of the Hand but he wants her to work as a scullery maid (to keep her identity from Cersei.) As soon as he tells her, Tyrion realizes it was a mistake. In the TV show, Tyrion tells both Bronn and Shae before the Battle of the Green Fork. As for whether the marriage to Sansa could be challenged, I have accelerated the rise of the Sparrows to pre Joffrey wedding. They were lurking in the background but didn't become an issue until Cersei screws up as Queen Regent. In the books, the High Sparrow emerges after the Red and Purple Weddings.

Reginald Lannister only appears on TV. He is the twit who Tywin banishes back to Lannisport after he complains about working too hard. In this story, he is transposed with the Lannister men that Oberyn stabs as soon as he gets into King's Landing.

Jeyne Poole is one of the many victims of casual cruelty in A Song of Ice and Fire. There are lots of people killed and brutalized to give credence to GRRM's "The Gods are cruel" notion. Part of it is an odd glorification of characters like Ramsay and Euron Greyjoy. I think GRRM would argue that it enhances the suspense.

Alayaya is Chataya's daughter. This plotline was never explored on the TV show but Tyrion uses her for cover when he visits Shea. This leads to her being tied to a post, whipped, and thrown out of the Red Keep naked and injured. It was never clear to me whether that was due to Cersei or Tywin.

The Iron Bank has a lot of promise in the books but falls flat in the Show. Or maybe it is going to fall flat in the books as well. There is a lot of potential - the Bank could have ties to the Faceless Men. Baelish might be a secret agent, and I really liked the chapter where Jon bargains with the Iron Bank for a loan to help the wildlings survive the winter. But then you realize the wildlings have zilch property and how exactly is the Night's Watch a good credit? Tycho Nestoris does have a role in the story but I am saving it for a later chapter.

I don't remember it from the books but Varys feeds his network of little birds candied plums on the TV show. Of course the kids also talk because mutilated kids are a bit much even for HBO. Qyburn takes over Varys spy network in Season 6 with boxes of sweets. The Spider's web appears amazing but not when exposed to the light of day or reason.

Lamprey pie, honeyed ham and roast swan stuffed with mushrooms and oysters is a meal from the Tyrion chapter right before the Battle of Blackwater. The dinner also includes creamy chestnut soup, crusty hot bread, a green salad with apples and pine nuts, buttered carrots and white beans and bacon. And this is when people are starving in the Capital. GRRM really enjoys his food porn.

As for the secret passages, there is only one tunnel that is the escape route from Maegor's Holdfast. I decided that Varys knew the tunnel and could have used it to save Elia and the children. He just chose not to.

The Martells are a great concept. Oberyn has good lines, he is a unique character (hot-headed, bisexual, proud to have bastard daughters.) I even admire the choice of a spear as an effective weapon. But he gets thrown away to show the costs of overreach/arrogance and that the monsters can outlast the good guys. And after Oberyn is toast, the rest of the Dorne plot is a total mess. Arianne kidnaps Myrcella, the Sand Snakes posture but don't do squat, then in the TV show, they murder Myrcella by kissing her and kill Trystane. And then Dorne completely falls apart in Season 8. The whole thing stinks but the initial premise - House Martell is the only family that can resist the dragons - is neat.


	32. Hour of the Wolf

**Hour of the Wolf**

The lords and commanders of the Northern army camped on a hill overlooking the clear waters of the Blue Fork. Further upstream, the Trident dissolved into brooks and rills, the clear blue turned into sickly green, and the ground became soft and marshy. Men unloaded wagons, food and horses from riverboats as their leaders met in the ruins of the ancient stronghold. Few traces remained of the castle - broken foundations overgrown by weeds, a stony trail that wrapped around the hill, and the giant carved sepulcher of a dead king. The crypt rested at the center of what had been the yard, and the lid was worn and weathered with time, until the bas-relief showed only a smooth bearded face, and two hands folded over a cracked warhammer lying on the man's chest.

Robb stood at the head of the sepulcher, turned away from the river. The ancient king's eyes faced West, toward Ironman's Bay. Even two thousand years ago, when the First Men fought against the Andal invasion, the rivermen had been wary of Ironborn reavers. A reasonable fear, Robb thought, as ravens from Seagard bought news of an approaching fleet of longships.

"They are coming." a scout cried, pointing south at the banners bearing the Tully trout. It was a small force of armored men and horses with a rickety wheelhouse pulled by draft horses.

"Seven Hells. Is Edmure Tully riding in a carriage?" The Smalljon spat with disdain.

His uncle had completed negotiations with Lothar Frey for the betrothal. "That is likely to be my lady mother. They are travelling to the Twins so Edmure can marry." Robb said.

"Lord Stark." Ser Mychel had shown himself to be a fine swordsman at the God's Eye, and a good choice for Robb's battle guard. "Are we attending your uncle's wedding? I have only a suit of plate, and a mail shirt. I have no fine clothes and carry no gifts worthy of House Redfort."

"Speak to Eddard. No doubt he carries an extra doublet and silk surcoat. I saw him powder his nose and trim his beard before battle." The Smalljon japed.

"Oh shut up, Umber. Not everyone enjoys looking and smelling like a hairy unwashed beast." Harrion Karstark said cheerfully. The Karhold Heir had awoken at Harroway and improved rapidly as they sailed up the Trident.

"We are not going to the Twins." Robb said firmly. "The silver eagles of Seagard need our help. Our army heads west to repel invaders from the Riverlands. They say that Euron Greyjoy leads the rest of the Iron Fleet and that one has a fearsome reputation. We will not abandon our allies to the Crow's Eye and his band of murderers, rapers and pirates."

"But you must attend your uncle's wedding at the Twins." Ser Ryman blurted out. "It would be an insult. My Lord father would be displeased at the slight."

Robb did not give two shits about the opinions of either Ser Ryman or his peevish father. The dire wolves, particularly Nymeria, snarled at the presence of the Freys. Even Grey Wind barely tolerated his squire, Perwyn, and that was the best reaction of the three wolves. "The North came to the Riverlands not to attend banquets or beddings but to fight. We met the Lannisters and the Tyrells in battle. And now we will chase off the Greyjoys."

"Lord Stark, what of the gift to your uncle for the wedding? Surely Lady Catelyn wishes your presence to celebrate Lord Edmure's marriage." A stooped Frey with a thin grey mustache said unctuously. Robb did not know his name, only that he had demanded and been denied a command at the Red Fork, given that the man was a poor fighter and a worse leader.

"I will give my uncle a beautiful sight - Ironborn fleeing for their lives as we drive them back to their shithole islands. House Tully is sworn to defend the Riverlands. That will be the gift of House Stark. Harrion Karstark, you will lead the van against this scum. I will stand with the Mallisters to defend the castle. And while we hold them, the Manderlys, Mormonts and Umbers will burn their ships in the harbour." Robb said.

"Well said, lad." The Greatjon roared. "No feast is better than bathing in the blood of your enemies. Who wants to share a meal with the fucking Freys?"

"Aye. The food at the Twins is dreadful. Mushy peas. Beets and beans. Cold mashed turnips. How I long for a nice fat pork pie, full of carrots, onions, mushrooms and pork in gravy." Wyllis Manderly smacked his meaty lips at the tasty provender in White Harbour.

"You both look like you have had enough pies to eat." The Smalljon japed and patted Wendel on his broad back. The Manderly brothers rolled their eyes and the other commanders chuckled. More than the Riverlords, the Northern houses had united under the Stark banner.

"Lord Robb, what of your brother? Will he work to defeat the squids?" Robett Glover asked. Deepwood Motte had suffered from the ironborn incursions.

"My brother Jon is elsewhere, my lords. And he has much to do in the Riverlands, south of Harrenhal." The Northern lords grumbled, clearly desirous of news on the maester. Robb refused to disclose any details, and the meeting ended with annoyed Freys, happy Mallisters and Northmen ready and eager for battle.

* * *

Robb was still thinking over the crypt when a woman with long brown hair entered the clearing, dressed in a plain gray robe. Grey Wind trailed behind, the mighty dire wolf's yellow eyes following her every step.

"Lady Catelyn has left the wheelhouse. She is with her brother and the Freys." Talisa said.

"I have no desire to speak with her. Her actions have cost me greatly." Robb said. He placed his right hand on the healer's smooth belly. "Has there been any ..."

"Your mother means well, though she should have trusted you more. And I have not bled for two moons now. Your dire wolf is quite attentive, Robb. I have seen him more than you the past sennight." Talisa chided him gently.

"I wanted Grey Wind to guard you, my lady."

The dire wolf nudged her belly, eliciting a rub on the ears from Talisa. "Robb, I overheard some of the Rivermen speaking. They wonder where Jon Snow is and say that you might have quarreled with your brother and sister."

"Do you believe that?"

Talisa shook her head. "Of course not. All three dire wolves are here, although Nymeria and Ghost lurk in the shadows. If you quarreled with Arya or Jon, their wolves would not guard you."

Robb loved her common sense. The dire wolves echoed their bond mates. Ghost was silent and wise while Nymeria was an out of control hellion. "Jon and Arya are South."

"They went to King's Landing on your orders?" A somber Talisa said. "Are you worried?"

"Hardly my orders, but yes - they went to the capital. What do you know about Torrhen Stark, the last King of the North?" Robb said.

"The King Who Knelt? Even in Essos, everyone knows the story of Aegon's Conquest. After the dragons burnt thousands on the Field of Fire, who would dare resist?" Talisa said.

"The story is more complicated than that. Torrhen Stark had a bastard half brother. Brandon Snow had more of the north in him than many trueborn Starks. When the Northern army camped at the Trident, Brandon Snow offered to cross the river and kill Aegon's dragons while they slept." Robb said.

"But surely he would not have succeeded. Balerion the Black Dread was the greatest dragon that ever flew over Westeros." Talisa said.

"Old Nan claimed that Brandon Snow had the greensight, and could dream of the future, even things that would never come to pass. He sliced three branches of the weirwood heart tree, and shaped them into arrows, one for each of Aegon's dragons." Robb said.

"And then what?"

"Torrhen Stark refused his brother. He feared Brandon might slay one dragon, but not all three. Then the Targaryens would burn the North in revenge and turn Winterfell into a funeral pyre. Instead, Torrhen sent Brandon and three maesters to negotiate terms of surrender with Aegon. The next day, Torrhen knelt and was named Warden of the North. Brandon Snow chose exile to Essos and founded the Company of the Rose with other Northerners who refused to bend the knee. Torrhen never saw his half brother again."

"An interesting story, Robb, but how does it relate to you?"

"Jon is my Brandon Snow. But I will not bend the knee to a false pretender. Jon crossed into the enemy camp and he will strike a blow for House Stark."

"Does he plan to kill the Lannisters?"

"Jon means to rescue Sansa. But he will kill anyone he needs to get her and Arya out alive. I will not break with my brother. If he falls, I will avenge him. He would do the same for me." Robb spoke with the certainty of absolute truth. The pack was eternally loyal.

* * *

Tyrion kicked off the ridiculous black and gold thigh high boots, nearly hitting Podrick Payne in the face. That morning, the testy old cobbler, who claimed to be the most skilled in all of the Crownlands, swore the expensive footwear would add four inches to his height. That it did, through a high heel that needed to be countered by toes that bent upward into a fine point, lest he fall flat on his face. The gold "poulaines" were extravagantly long, as befitting a Lannister, and extended three inches high, almost matching the heels.

"The shoes match your doublet. If it raises your height, it is worth the discomfort." Jaime offered. His brother wore crimson and black, with the roaring lion of House Lannister embroidered in gold thread. At the wedding, Jaime would don white armor and white cloak as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"I don't care that it pinches my feet. It's more that I look like a fool. If I wore a cap and bells, people would mistake me for Moon Boy." Tyrion complained.

"No, they wouldn't. Moon Boy is a lot taller. Better looking too." Bronn said.

"Don't you have something better to do? Like ensure my security?" Tyrion said.

"I don't see how that is possible." Bronn said. An army of servants had invaded the Tower of the Hand intent on cooking, cleaning, dusting, and delivering casks of wine, barrels of beer, pipes of cider, and giant tuns of ale, large enough to enclose a standing man.

"Nevertheless, you need to appear busy today. A man's reputation suffers when his personal sword lounges about, like Mace Tyrell in front of a smoked ham." Tyrion said. The sellsword grinned and left to grab a tankard of brown ale from a wench. Tyrion looked on with envy.

"I tried to convince Father to make your wedding a smaller affair. That it would suit both you and Sansa..." Jaime spoke with a hurry.

"But he didn't listen to a single word you said. He said this would be a lesson for his wayward son, to teach him humility." Tyrion snarked. Jaime only nodded helplessly. Conversations with Lord Tywin were always predictable. "I wonder how our Lord Father missed his childhood lessons on how to be humble. He probably ordered the maester or septa flogged."

Tyrion made the universal hand gesture of his need for a stiff drink. Podrick Payne gulped but busied himself with polishing the chain of rubies and golden lion heads. Tyrion sighed. He had told the squire last night that under no circumstances to give him wine before the wedding. Unfortunately, Pod was too loyal to disobey orders. "What does it look like out in the courtyards? Has the parade of whores arrived?"

Jaime shook his head. "It is still early but the talk among the guards is that Baelish is paying a silver stag for any prostitute willing to hiss and boo when you walk out of the Sept."

"A silver stag? Every brothel worker in Flea Bottom will rush the castle to mourn my nuptials. The city will go begging for whores. Even my cock cannot service so many."

"Only well dressed ladies of the evening will be allowed. No slatterns can pass the gates. Joffrey has given orders to the castle. Prepare yourself and Sansa Stark. The crowd will be large." Jaime said.

"Lady Sansa has not spoken to me for days. She spends all her time looking out the window at the river or sewing a dire wolf. And as for the crowd - all my life, I have suffered their scorn. Today, I merely need to do it without wine. At least not until dinner. My first marriage bought me a few weeks of happiness. Tonight, the only hope is Arbor Gold. I intend to get so dead drunk that even the mouths of a dozen whores could not wake me." Tyrion said.

* * *

At Chataya's, the Sand Snakes donned the loose, layered robes of satin and silk designed for the hot dry Dornish sun. The clothes revealed a great deal of skin - a glimpse of a side breast, a slit showing an olive colored thigh, and a low cut neckline that displayed both substantial cleavage and even more of their strong smooth backs. They wore copper and gold - Obara a belt of copper suns, Nymeria a cream and copper silk cape and Tyene two ornate snake bracelets with copper and gold scales. The exception was the fourth daughter - Sarella Sand, who struggled to fit into a gown of flowing white samite, cinched with a beaded belt. To be fair, that dress belonged to Alayaya, who was two years younger and slimmer in the hips.

"I can cut a deeper slit to let you move more easily." Yaya said, kneeling down to fix the gown.

"The slit is almost at my waist. It has been three years since I wore anything but breeches and tunic." Sarella said. A sheathed knife, tied to a thigh belt, peeked out from the left leg.

"I can go with you." The young whore said hopefully.

"No, Yaya. It is going to be dangerous when things begin. Sweetling, I would be happier if you were safe." Sarella replied. The young whore nodded and left.

Obara snorted. "How do we know if anything will happen? Snow claims he can perform miracles. Is he a sorcerer? And if he could arm Father, why can't he bring a second spear?" The big broad women bristled, looking less like a lady than a beefy warrior itching for a fight.

Before Sarella could respond, Tyene interjected. "Obara, you are only angry because you have no weapon. Now, if you used daggers, that would be different." Even dressed for a wedding, both Nym and Tyene carried half a dozen blades under their flowing clothes.

"I still don't see how it is possible. A short sword can be hidden. Even a whip. But a long spear?" Obara exclaimed.

Oberyn Martell entered the room in a long yellow caftan, embroidered with two lines of blazing starburst suns. Under the robe, he wore a few bits of armor - copper vambraces, leather greaves, and a thin linen gambeson. None of the pieces offered much protection but the Red Viper planned to rely on speed and surprise. "Your sister is right. A wedding chapel is not a butchery. Only the guards will have weapons. Did this maester truly say he could bring me a spear in the sept?"

"Yes Father. A spear. Eight feet long. A blade the length of two feet and four inches at its widest. Jon Snow has given his word." Sarella said.

Oberyn laughed. "I like him more and more. But how will he do it?"

"I do not know." She shrugged.

The Prince of Dorne turned to his daughters. "You all look beautiful. Lovely and deadly. But there is something more you need to know. Something about my sister, Elia." The Sand Snakes waited for their sire to continue. "The gates of King's Landing were sealed against the Lannister army. Aerys planned to hunker down in the Red Keep, forcing them to siege the city. Pycelle convinced Aerys to open the gates, in the hope that Tywin would take the Iron Throne. He knew that would mean the death of Elia's children."

"Then Pycelle dies today." Nym said coolly.

* * *

The sun had passed through the highest point and was slowly descending in the sky. Outside the pale red stone walls, a festive spirit filled the streets and alleys that fed into the King's Way. Singers bellowed out wedding songs, "The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown" and "Flowers of Spring", trying and failing to be heard over the loud outcry of rude pushcart peddlers. Smallfolk lined the paths about the castle, hoping to glimpse highborn maidens, gallant knights, and beautiful whores. Men and women chattered about the Imp and his astonishing feats of sexual perversity. Wives wondered how such a small man could have such a large appetite. Soldiers bragged about their own conquests and compared their cocks to the demon monkey of Casterly Rock. Many swore they had seen the Imp bring a honeycomb and jackass to a brothel. How he employed such strange objects for his pleasure, no one could guess, just as they paid no attention to the little birds darting around.

Four boys gathered in the shadow of a bronze gate near a sealed postern. They were dressed somewhere between a squire and a servant and confidently pushed carts laden with food and drink. The four waited for their master who would find them here, an hour after the sundial showed no shadow.

A holy man wearing a cloth of silver vestment about his shoulders and long white robes approached. Sunlight reflected off the seven sides of the stately crystal coronet on the head, and hints of blue and green flickered above the gold rim. Like most of the high clergy, the robes billowed as if hiding a large belly. In this case, the protrusion was a satchel strapped to the front that contained a crossbow, wildfire and rope.

"Your holiness." The four boys puckishly bowed.

Jon Snow removed the itchy coronet crown and wiped beads of sweat off his cropped hair. "Only the High Septon is called his Holiness and his coronal is much finer. Each of those crystals are over a foot high. My title is simply Septon."

"Begging pardon, Septon, but the High Sparrow wishes to sell all the gold, crystal and silver in the Sept. So he wouldn't wear any crown higher than yours." Clydas laughed.

"And he wouldn't have this." Chett reached below his cart to get out a long staff, shaped like a shepherd's crook. The crozier was wider than most, for good reason, and the Wintertown boys had etched marks of the Faith of the Seven on the bent head.

Jon admired the stout crook in his hand. "A fine piece of work. You have done well." The top appeared to be ivory jointed with copper strips but was really cheap painted wood. The shaft though was sturdy ash.

"We sharpened the end and added iron to the bottom." Chett pointed with pride to the butt-spike. The spike improved the balance and could even stab a trapped foe.

Jon held the crozier in his left hand and strapped the holy water sprinkler to his right. The silver ball was above the belt, allowing the stored liquid to ooze into the hollow handle. "We don't have much time. In less than two hours, the wedding will begin and end. One of you should be near the royal sept. The rest in the courtyards below. What of Varys' birds?"

"My lord, we recruited the little birds this morning. We handed out copper stars, more coins to attract the whores, and promised even silver stags to find us in the castle. They were shocked at their good luck." Denys said.

"And were they suspicious? Will any run to find Varys?"

"They were, my Lord. But they were also very hungry. We could offer far more than the Spider. Hot bread and cheese. Eggs. Fried sausages. Candied plums. Copper stars. We promised more if they obeyed." Shayn said.

"Good. It helps that the Spider is busy watching the Tyrells and Martells at the castle. Which septon comes to the Red Keep?" Jon said.

"The High Sparrow nearly refused but the Most Devout sent Septon Luceon. He is a son of Walder Frey. A greedy fat man." Clydas said.

"What does he look like?" Jon asked.

"Like any Frey. A mix between a rat, a weasel and a vulture. But most septons are very fat. Luceon is no exception. He is also older than you." Clydas said.

"Luckily, this ridiculous crown covers my hair and the top of my head. I will need to puff my cheeks out like a squirrel. Now the most critical part. Do you have the cloaks?"

The four nodded. Hidden in each cart were dozens of cloaks and veils. Jon inspected them - the wool garments were winter grey on ice white. Stark colors. These were the colors that Sansa would wear in the royal sept.

* * *

The hardest part was the waiting. Jon had hugged her and wished her good luck hours ago, leaving her with Balerion. The old black cat was not good company - not like a dire wolf. In another life, she could spend days playing with Nymeria in the godswood.

Arya waited in the dark, in the small round chamber where six tunnels met, each with their own door and iron gate. She chose not to light the ornate iron brazier, in the shape of a dragon's head. On the floor, Arya placed a pile of pebbles to mark the trail that only she would know. She could wander in the dark. But the stones would guide Sansa and the others. Arya could destroy any trace as they passed. There would be no clues left for little birds.

Balerion hissed, and jumped on the rungs set on the walls. Arya followed, counting the number of steps. The ascent was long and hard and she groped for each rung, although the dim outline of the black tom led the way. Her arms hurt, but with every step, her footing became more sure. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Finally, when the count reached two hundred thirty, she crawled through the short tunnel to the left, pulled an iron hook, and entered the bedchamber of the Hand.

Servants roamed the Tower of the Hand, preparing for the banquet. Dressed in the red and gold brigandine, Arya looked like a Lannister page. She would have told a maid that she needed a veil from Lady Sansa's chamber but the black tom sniffed and scurried down a long hall. Arya heard soft sobbing. A skinny dark haired girl wept, her hands covering a thin face.

"Jeyne Poole." Arya put a finger to her mouth, signalling for quiet.

"Please, please, Ser. Don't hurt me." The girl shrank back in fear, her eyes on the floor.

"Jeyne, stop that."

"Arya?" she whispered. "Is that really you? How can that be?"

"We need to leave - NOW. Get whatever things you have."

The girl's eyes turned fearful. "Arya, I can't. They hurt me - many times. You don't know what they did to me - how they.."

Arya put up her hand. "Stop. I know you have suffered terrible things. But are you going to let them abuse you? Or are you going to strike back?"

"But I am not brave. I am not a Stark, like you." a tearful Jeyne said.

"My father said that we can only be brave when we are afraid. Do you want to save Sansa?"

Jeyne nodded. "With all my heart."

"Good. We are getting out of here. But first, we need to get my sister. Promise me - that you will do what I say and follow my orders. We need to fight for Sansa."

"But.. what do I have to do?"

"You need a gown. And then a cloak. We are going to attend the wedding. But you are not Jeyne Poole. You are Lady Elisa from the Crownlands, and I am Arry, your page. Don't look sad or fearful. Stand straight and tall. You are the daughter of a powerful house."

"I need a moment to wash my hair and face. I can wear Sansa's purple dress, and blue cloak to cover my hair." She hurried to a basin of water.

Arya knew Jeyne would be wearing another cloak soon. But that could wait until they exited the tower. From her satchel, she took out a vial and began to splash the green liquid over hangings, rugs, and in the dark spaces near the windows. The black tom hissed his approval.

* * *

They made it up the serpentine steps, her red and gold doublet a sign to gold cloaks and castle guards of her faux allegiance to House Lannister. Jeyne stood straight and followed in Arya's footsteps. Her movement was wooden but the girl did not cower. Arya found the cart in the shadow of the royal Sept. For a moment, she did not recognize the pretty dark skinned lady near Chett. But then the big black eyes crinkled and the Sphinx smiled.

"Arry. How nice to see you again. And who is this?" Alleras said.

"Lady Elisa. Has everything gone to plan?" Arya said.

Chett nodded. He took out a cloak and veil of gray and white. All that was missing was the running dire wolf of House Stark.

"Better make it two." Alleras said. She wrapped the gray and white cloak about the shoulders of her white dress and the demi veil hid her dark brown hair. A perceptive observer saw the teak skin and the dark eyes but a quick glance revealed only a lady dressed in Stark colors.

"Lady Elisa, allow me." Chett gently placed the cloak on Jeyne's shoulders. The white veil covered the hair. From a distance, a viewer could not tell her apart from Alleras or Sansa Stark or the other ladies who also sported white and gray cloaks.

"How many?" Arya said.

"Half a dozen above the steps. The others have been much busier in the courtyard below." Chett handed her a large long package, wrapped with hempen rope about plain wool. "I will go find more of the little birds and hand out more cloaks and veils. We have been giving out three silver stags with every cloak, two for the whore, one for the little bird"

"I will take care of Lady Elisa.' Alleras drawled.

Arya nodded, both hands gingerly holding the package. She strode confidently to the sept.

* * *

At Winterfell, the sept was a small chamber for Lady mother to pray. Here each statue was huge with a censer at the base, burning sweet incense. There were seven statues but only six faces. The Stranger was turned away from the others, hidden in darkness. Besides the God of Death, the chamber was bathed in light, sunlight from the windows, the flames of a brazier hanging down in the center, and candles lit around the statues. The light scintillated against many seven sided crystals that decorated the room. Guards hung back while the nobles sat in silence, waiting for the septon to arrive between the altars of the Father and the Mother.

Arya spared no glance for the Imp fidgeting next to his white cloaked brother or her sister, alone among a bunch of unsmiling septas. She found the Martells easily enough, with their revealing yellow and orange silk gowns. Many eyes rested on the tall, slender man and his half dressed paramour. Instead, she sought out the three Sand Snakes, and gave the package to the golden haired girl in lace and samite. Arya whispered "For Elia" and hurried away.

Brienne stood awkwardly, ignored by nobles, septas, and guards alike. The heavily scarred man watched Sansa, and to his right, a large warrior with a hook nose and bushy brown hair japed with several Lannister men. That one wore a fine surcoat with a black kettle on a red field over white plate armor and carried a white helm on a leather belt with golden buckles.

Arya tapped Brienne on the side. Her mouth gaped in shock but Arya pointed to the corner, where the carved head of Baelor the Blessed watched over an ornate wooden door. Arya pushed her way through. The royal confessional was nearly as large as the Winterfell sept. A screen inlaid with prayers to the Father separated a chair and a comfortable bench covered in black satin, long enough for a grown man to lie down. A thin patina of dust covered the candles.

"Arya, what are you doing here?" a gobsmacked Brienne asked.

"Rescuing Sansa. Sit down." Arya quickly closed the door, and lit one candle. The septon's chair was illuminated but the bench remained in shadow. "Strip."

"Lady Stark! But…. " Brienne's confusion was clear.

"We don't have much time. Take off your armor. I will be back soon." Arya said. She closed the door quietly when she left.

The Lannister guards had taken their positions near the lions. The scarred man had eyes only for Sansa. Arya coughed respectfully, and then the knight with the black kettle turned.

"Ser - I have a message for you from…"

"Eh. Speak up, boy? From who." Kettleblack asked.

"A lady, Ser. A blushing maid with yellow hair and fair skin. She wishes to give you her favor, and possibly more." Arya said.

The brown haired man gave a lopsided grin. "Lead on, boy. I will be happy to meet your lady."

Arya opened the door to the confession. She heard a gasp but Brienne's face could not be seen in the darkness. The Maid of Tarth had stripped down to only her gambeson, and moved two beefy hands to cover herself. Osmund leaned in eagerly, only to reel when he saw the crooked teeth, short blond hair, and broad freckled face. As he backed away, Arya plunged Needle cleanly through the knight's right eye. She buried six inches of the blade into the head, twisted the rapier, and then braced both hands against the falling body. Kettleblack's legs collapsed and he fell to the side, blood pooling on the ground. There was no blood on the white cloak.

"Arya! You killed him…" Brienne squeaked, her modesty forgotten at the sight of the dead man.

"He is wearing a white cloak. Was he a kingsguard?"

"Ser Osmund bragged that the queen wanted him to guard her body. If there was any opening, he would be anointed as a kingsguard."

"So that's why he has a white cloak but no white armor. Help me take off his things." Arya said.

Brienne moved to unbuckle the backplate of the cuirass. Arya handed her the great helm, and stripped off the surcoat. Most of the blood was on the face and neck.

"When you walk out, you are Ser Osmund Kettleblack. Wear his surcoat, armor, cloak. Keep your head covered with the helmet. Be ready to rush for the door." Arya said

"With the surcoat and cloak, I only need a few pieces of Kettleblack's armor. How will I know when to run?" Brienne said.

"Simple. Just watch the wedding." Arya stripped the dead man of everything they needed.

* * *

Jon knelt before the altar of the Father, his head bowed and hidden. He gave thanks to the statues of the Seven. Infiltrating the Red Keep had been easy. No one challenged a septon wearing cloth of silver vestments. He found Luceon Frey, and informed him of a private message from the High Sparrow. In a small sacristy, Jon knocked Frey out with a vicious clout of the staff. He dragged the body behind some hangings and locked the room.

He kept his eyes low, but glanced about the room. Arya had returned from the confessional, a giant knight trailing her. In the front pews, the royal family sat in crimson and gold. The left was full of Tyrells, and the right the Martells, as far from Tywin as protocol allowed. Several warriors hovered around the Old Lion, including the monster that Jon had last seen fleeing at the Trident. Jaime walked down the steps, leaving a nervous Tyrion. Then Joffrey jabbered into Sansa's ear as he walked her up the aisle. Jon slashed the pouch of wildfire - and green began to drip on the ground. Jon faced the crowd, the staff at his left.

Sansa kept any sign of grief or fear from her pale drawn face. Her silver dress was hidden under the grey and white cloak. Her escort wore a crown of gold antlers, encrusted with rubies and black diamonds. It was either too large for his head, or his neck tilted to the left. A smirking Joffrey left Sansa at the bottom of the steps, and returned to his seat.

Tyrion offered his hands to Sansa as she walked up to the altar. She refused, looking at the ground. The dwarf grimaced slightly and reached for a giant wedding cloak of crimson velvet worked with lions and bordered with gold, satin and rubies. Jon slammed the iron butt of the staff on the ground, and the eyes in the room turned to him. Sansa's mouth gaped in shock.

"We are gathered here today before the Father and Mother. The Seven Pointed Star teaches that the Father grants justice and the Mother offers mercy. But there has been little justice or mercy in King's Landing. None for Ned Stark. None for Elia Martell. None for Aegon or Rhaenys Targaryen. All four were murdered by the Iron Throne."

Stunned murmurs were interrupted by King Joffrey's screech. "Ned Stark was a traitor."

"A false confession to a false king. You are the son of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. You have no right to any crown." Jon retorted. He leaned the staff against the table and grabbed the holy water sprinkler with his right hand and lifted a burning candle in the left. .

Knights and guards drew their swords and rushed for the altar. Gold cloaks, white cloaks, and red cloaks surged forward. "How dare you utter such lies! I will have your head." an outraged Tywin Lannister thundered.

"You have tried before. The Starks send their regards." Jon said.

Jon swung the holy water sprinkler back and forth, and sheets of bright green liquid rained down from the unsealed holes onto the oncoming soldiers. No one knew why until Jon held the candle high and blew the flame into the sprays of wildfire. Jets of dark emerald flames gushed out and guards screamed as armor and skin caught fire. Burning men ran into the horrified crowd as the sept descended into chaos and noise. Jon threw the candle behind him, igniting a trail of liquid to the statues. He dropped the now empty holy water sprinkler and retrieved a clay jar from his pouch, and tossed it high into the burning brazier, hanging at the center of the room. The jar landed and immediately exploded, bathing the sept in an eerie green light, as shards of clay, glass, and hot metal rained down.

"Run." he said to Sansa. Jon ripped off the robes and tossed them in the direction of the Lannisters. Green liquid spewed from the pouch and more fires ignited in the pews. As they rushed down the center of the aisle, Jon threw the crozier at the feet of Oberyn Martell. Jon and Sansa joined the exodus with Arya, Brienne and Owen not far behind. Bystanders gawked at the smoldering green flames in the royal sept. Jon and his sisters disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Tyrion peered warily from under the altar table. The flames still burned hazily, and the sept was bathed in green, but the chamber slowly regained a semblance of order. He checked once again his doublet, trousers, belt and boots and thanked the gods his clothes were not drenched.

"Tyrion!" Jaime hurled the table to the side. The white armor was streaked with soot, and the white cloak half burned but his brother had escaped unscathed.

"Perhaps the gods wish me to stay a bachelor." Tyrion quipped to an unamused crowd. Bronn and Pod had helped Jaime in the search.

"That was Snow. How in the Seven Hells did he get wildfire?" Bronn said.

An excellent question. Could the pyromancers be playing both sides? Hallyne and his acolytes were more pompous than duplicitous. Still, everyone was susceptible to gold. A horrible thought struck Tyrion. What if Snow, as a skilled maester, discovered the recipe for wildfire?

"I am glad you are unharmed." Jaime said. "A dozen guards died, and more suffered injuries."

"What about our family? Or the other nobles?" Tyrion asked.

Jaime responded by leading the way to a large group of Tyrells, Martells and Lannisters surrounded by guards and toadies. No one was missing. Lord Tywin's pale green eyes glittered with anger and rage. Tyrion had never seen his father so close to losing control.

"Are all Lannister weddings so full of excitement? Compared to this, Margaery's wedding will be a dull affair." the Queen of Thorns said.

"It was quite a show. I might be wrong but a wedding ends in a bedding, not a runaway bride. Luckily, I have a keepsake." the Red Viper smirked as he held the septon's staff.

"We will drag Sansa Stark back to the altar. And her bastard brother will beg for the Stranger's Kiss before his head lands on a spike." Cersei said.

"They cannot escape, your grace. Gold cloaks guard the steps. We will find them." Trant said.

"Why did we have no idea Jon Snow was in King's Landing?" Tywin asked.

"My Lord, I investigated other potential threats. I saw no trace of Jon Snow." Varys said.

"How could he have gotten wildfire?" Tywin said.

"Does he have wildfire?" the Red Viper asked rhetorically. "He only threw one jar, and had some more liquid stored in that mace."

"The Prince of Dorne is correct. With more wildfire, Snow could have burned down the sept. Perhaps the alchemists only sold him a few vials." Pycelle said.

"That is not the only possible explanation." Tyrion said. "He may have more but simply chose not to use it. Why would he only have a few vials?"

"I want the bastard's head." Joffrey yelled. "I want him tortured and torn from limb to limb before he dies." A large vein bulged on his nephew's forehead.

"Enough. First we need to find him." Tywin Lannister led the way to the doors of the sept.

* * *

The yard overflowed with hundreds and hundreds of men and women in motion, some watched the sept, others pushed against the goldcloaks, and even more swirled about chaotically like currents in an eddy. Tyrion saw a lady covered in Stark gray and white, and then another, and then another. At least a dozen women wore colors akin to Sansa Stark's maiden cloak. One of them was his former whore Shae, wearing a purple dress underneath.

"What the?" Jaime asked. All the highborn nobles looked about the mass of people, straining to find Sansa Stark. The trouble was that they saw too many of them, and most were moving in the crowd. The white and gray cloaks stood out in a sea of color.

"Oh, well played, Jon Snow. Well played." Varys giggled.

His lord father turned, his face cold and furious. "Did you tell him?"

"Tell who?" Tyrion responded.

"Snow. You allowed Sansa Stark to wear a cloak of gray and white. Somehow, Snow managed to sneak those cloaks here in the Red Keep." Tywin said.

"No." Tyrion's denial was equally forceful. "You allowed whores to come to my wedding to humiliate me. One of them is wearing a Stark cloak. Are the other ones wearing gray and white also whores? Because if so, the fault belongs to the man who brought them to the castle."

Tywin glared at a squirming Baelish. "My lord, I had no idea of this. I only asked for a few ladies who had known Tyrion well."

Tyrion sought the pleasure of paid women, but he had not fucked a dozen women since his arrival at King's Landing. Where had the whores come from?

The loud shrill yell came from the crowd. "Look, Lady Sansa." A woman in a white gown wearing a white and gray cloak and veil dashed for the White Sword Tower.

"A Thousand Golden Dragons for Sansa Stark's capture." The cry echoed through the castle. The crowd parted ways as hundreds of warriors gave chase.

"Stop, Jaime." Tyrion hissed, pulling on the remnants of his brother's cloak.

"Tyrion, as commander of the Kingsguard, my duty is to capture the girl." Jaime said.

"This doesn't make sense. Think, Jaime. Who would pay a thousand dragons for Sansa Stark?"

"Father would. Or The Iron Throne. Or even you." Jaime's eyes widened in realization.

White Sword Tower lay a few hundred paces from the royal Sept. A mass of guards had rushed over, certain that the girl could be trapped easily in the conical structure. After all, the tower was at the corner of the Red Keep, and housed only seven apartments, six of them sparse sleeping cells. A horde of armored men led by Meryn Trant reached the tower.

Tyrion did not see the crossbow, only the flaming bolt that shot out from the shadows. A wooden cask, bound in iron, rested at the bottom of the winding steps. The bolt hit the barrel and the barrel exploded into a raging green inferno. Dozens of men were hurled into the air like some hungry giant had plucked them into the sky, and bits of pieces of scorched armor with blackened body parts rained down. A flaming green demon rose, its head nearly the height of the four story tower, with tendrils that reached out to kiss the once eager men. They died so quickly that there was no time to scream. Instead, the crowd shrieked in fear and ran in a mad dash for the steps, overwhelming the few remaining gold cloaks not gawking at the dead.

Even hundreds of feet away, the heat was horrid. The demon appeared to bow, and Tyrion thought for a brief moment that the carnage was over. Then he heard a short sharp hiss, like air being sucked through a tube, and a deafening roar went up. A cloud of dark emerald rose up behind the demon, and the windows of the tower shattered into broken glass and charred stone. The upper walls tottered and fell, like a stumbling greybeard wreathed in a cloak of jade. The crash shook the entire keep, and a cloud of super heated dust and smoke blew over the sept. Patches of wildfire littered the ground, and the stench of burnt flesh overwhelmed his nostrils, despite many of the dead being covered by rubble. All that remained was a broken stub of molten slag where white stone had once stood. White Sword Tower was gone.

"Well, that settles it. Jon Snow does have wildfire. And quite a bit of it." The Red Viper chuckled.

* * *

The Winter Town crew had done well. Below the steps Jon counted at least three dozen wearing a white and gray cloak. That did not include the smiling Sand Snake. Alleras looked properly Dornish with orange and red over her hidden white gown. The Sphinx had raced to White Sword Tower and discarded her cloak there, after ducking into the shadows. They were all gathered now, even the stunned Brienne, ready to go.

"Good work, Alleras. But now we have to hurry." Jon said. He took the hand of the girl standing to his right, her face. "Brienne, take her out of the castle. She knows where to go."

"There are two horses stabled outside, my lady, at the corner before the Hook. The alley leads to River Row, and from there, ride along the castle walls to the docks." Clydas said.

"But won't the gates be watched?" Brienne asked.

"Of course they will. And if you were Brienne, you might be stopped. But you are Ser Osmund Kettleblack with a white cloak, escorting a highborn lady back to her mansion." Jon said.

"We will escort you out the gates, Lady Brienne." Clydas said.

"Clydas, Denys, and Shayn - seek out the little birds and bring them to the ships. They should know you from this morning." Jon said.

"Milord, what if they don't come? We have silver stags and candied plums. But what if they run back to Varys?" Denys said.

"Do the best you can. These are hungry children. If we can free them from the Spider's Web, we should. Better to save some than none."

Sansa Stark watched in stunned silence as Brienne walked off with Jeyne Poole, shadowed by the WinterTown boys. She raised her white and gray veil, only to be stopped by Jon.

"Sansa, don't show your face outside. Arya knows the escape route. Chett, go with them."

"What about us?" Owen asked.

"Snow, Dorne wants blood. The Mountain or Tywin Lannister." Alleras said.

"Lord Tywin will be surrounded by many men. But the Mountain - if you can get him alone... I will take Owen and distract the Lannisters. Use that time to set a trap for the Mountain."

"The best bait would be Sansa Stark. Where are they going?" Alleras asked pointedly.

"The Tower of the Hand." Jon said.

"Then I will join them. Don't worry - Your sisters will be gone before the Mountain comes."

"Very well." Jon handed Alleras five jars of wildfire. "Half of what I have left."

"A kiss, Snow, before parting." Alleras lifted her head and their lips locked for a long moment.

"I would kiss you too, Snow, but you are not leaving me." Owen quipped.

"Enough of that, Owen. Goodbye sisters. Good luck, Alleras." Jon said, as they parted.

* * *

Tyrion wondered why the Seven Kingdoms were cursed with idiots for kings. Robert Baratheon was a piss poor ruler but had never shown fear. After the tower's destruction, Joffrey demanded that his personal safety be the top priority. Worrying about survival in the face of a wildfire explosion was sensible. Revealing that fear by cowering was not. Particularly when Joffrey ignored Margaery and ordered around the Lannisters.

"Where are my guards? Why are they not here, protecting me?" Joffrey yelled.

"Everyone near the tower is dead. Trant, Moore and Blount were next to the cask when it exploded. The only white cloaks alive are Jaime, Ser Loras, or in Dorne." Tyrion said.

"What about the Hound? He can guard me, and not the wolf bitch."

Jaime answered first. "Sandor Clegane ran out of the doors."

"My dog abandoned his post! I will have his head." Joffrey ranted.

"Your grace, Clegane does not like fires. Not since he was burnt as a boy." Jaime eyed the Mountain with disgust. "Perhaps you should retire to Maegor's Holdfast."

"Will I be safe there from wildfire?" Joffrey asked.

"Your grace, Maegor's is the strongest place in the Red Keep. There is no way Jon Snow can reach you there." Varys said.

"Unless he has already placed wildfire in the holdfast and is waiting to spring a trap." Oberyn said. "After all, members of the royal family have died there before."

"It is not possible to sneak into Maegor's Holdfast, Prince Oberyn." Varys said.

"Did you think it was possible for Sansa Stark to be rescued at her wedding?" Oberyn retorted.

"The king will return to Maegor's." Tywin dismissed Joffrey. "Pycelle, locate the pyromancer Hallyne. Find out how Snow might have procured the wildfire."

"As you wish, my Lord." The grand maester left for the rookery.

* * *

They descended to the lower castle - the guards testing the steps before nobles crossed. Near the sept, there had been a dozen women wearing gray and white. Below the steps, there were hundreds. Even worse, discarded veils and cloaks were strewn on the courtyards. The destruction of the tower had cost them precious time.

"Arrest anyone wearing Stark colors." Tywin Lannister ordered.

"My Lord. The whores know nothing about the plot to rescue Sansa Stark. They were given garments by boys with push carts." Ser Jacelyn Bywater said.

"Then why are they wearing those infernal clothes?" Tywin asked.

"They were told it was to please Lord Baelish and King Joffrey, and paid two silver stags. The children were also paid as well." Bywater said.

"Children? What children?" Tyrion asked.

"Children who told the whores the Throne wished them to wear gray and white. They brought the women to the carts. Street urchins, my Lord Hand. They have all disappeared."

"I want every inch of the Red Keep searched. The whores will shed their cloaks. Anyone wearing Stark colors will be tied to a post and flogged." Tywin said.

Just then, a vial fell from the sky, and smashed twenty feet away, bursting in a noxious flame. Another jar shattered against the red walls, staining the stones green, before the wildfire ignited. Panicked guards scattered and smallfolk screamed in terror.

"Snow is still in the castle." Jaime said. "He must be throwing wildfire from a tower window."

But which one? From the courtyard, a dozen towers could be seen. Drum towers, corner forts, barracks, the small council chambers, the Holdfast, the Tower of the Hand. Each had dozens of windows.

"We will have to search them one by one, starting with the closest building. Ser Loras, come with me." Jaime unsheathed his sword.

"If you want to get yourself killed, Kingslayer, go right ahead. But leave my grandson out of it." The Queen of Thorns said firmly.

"But we have to find Snow. He is our best hope of recovering Sansa Stark." Jaime said.

"He will pour wildfire on your head and throw you a torch. Or shoot you with a crossbow. Probably both. Don't be a fool." Olenna Tyrell refused to back down.

"The old lady is right." Bronn said to Tyrion. "I would not chase Snow for a thousand dragons or a dozen whores. We're lucky he didn't kill all of us in the sept."

Lord Tywin ended the discussion. "Clegane. Find Jon Snow. Kill him."

"What about the girl?" The Mountain asked.

"Bring her back alive. Kill any one who tries to stop you."

* * *

Oberyn Martell waited until the Lannisters and their Tyrell lackeys left the royal sept. Joffrey had already departed with Cersei and Tommen. Oberyn's hands gripped the sturdy ash of the crozier. With a simple twist, the hook snapped off, leaving a six foot shaft. The top was tapered three inches and smoothed into a smaller sanded circle. He took the package from Tyene. They unwrapped the rope, revealing a well crafted steel blade, two feet long. Nymeria and Tyene admired the sharp edges and point. The Red Viper's eyes went lower and he whistled.

"Jon Snow may have only sixteen name days but he deserves a steel link." Oberyn said, examining the head. "The socket is chamfered to round the bottom edges. This is well made."

Oberyn swiftly mounted the spear blade. He deftly turned the head on the pole, until the parts joined into one whole. He bound the blade and the shaft with rope, and then took out a tiny veil and dripped black venom onto the blade.

'Father, I found this rat." Obara Martell dragged back Pycelle by his scrawny wattled neck. Her left hand was clamped over the mouth and the snowy beard. She hurled him to the floor.

The Grand Maester begged for mercy. "Please, don't hurt me. I have done nothing wrong."

"You helped kill my sister and her children." Oberyn said.

"It wasn't me. It was Lorch and Ser Gregor." Pycelle babbled. "All I did, I did for the realm.."

"You did it for the Lannisters. What did Tywin have on you? Did he pay you gold, women?" Oberyn took hold of the bejeweled maester's chain, a heavy thick rope of two dozen links, from cheap tin to white platinum. He twisted the chain, until Pycelle's face purpled. The maester lost control of his body in death, staining the red velvet and ermine robe with shit and piss.

The Red Viper tossed away the dead man, and took up the spear. Ellaria touched his left arm. "Oberyn, my love. Are you certain you want to fight the Mountain?"

"Fight him? I am going to kill him. Manticore venom is deadly, and the moment it reaches his heart, the Mountain is a dead man." Oberyn replied.

"But he might not die, Father." Tyene said. "You have thickened the venom with sorcery. And the Mountain is enormous. It may take him hours to die."

"His armor is incredibly thick. Under the plate armor, he wears chain and leather. They say he is stronger than any man alive in Westeros." Nym added.

The Red Viper leaned the staff against a statue of some aspect of the Seven and took Ellaria's face tenderly with both hands. "It may be that I die fighting the Mountain. And if that shall pass, I will miss you and my lovely Sand Snakes. But let me live deep while I live. Let me know the embrace of your arms, the mad clash of battle, the sweet joy of revenge. I am content with my life. And if I die, I will dance in Hell or wait for you in Heaven." Oberyn said.

* * *

Wedding preparations at the Tower of the Hand had stopped, with frightened servants fleeing for their lives. Wild rumors spread that the White Wolf planned to burn down the entire Red Keep. Few men were brave enough to face wildfire, and none of those were sellswords.

Arya ransacked the dresser, while her sister disrobed, taking off first the cloak and veil, the grey doeskin slippers, and finally the ivory samite wedding gown, leaving her only in silk smallclothes behind the goldenwood screen. Arya threw over a revealing bright orange robe, with a deep plunging cleavage line that slashed down to the belly. A cinched feathered belt and a copper collar completed the ensemble. Arya ripped out the needles holding together the tightly coiffed and braided hair and put in their place, a cheap strip of copper.

"Ouch!" Sansa, her locks now an unruly mass of auburn curls, looked at the garish colorful clothes with dismay. "I look like a ... "

"A whore. Best disguise for where we are going. Hurry up." Arya said.

"Begging your pardon - but why does the Imp have whore's clothes?" Chett's face was turned toward the chamber door, his red face averted from Lady Sansa.

"For a whore, no doubt. Men have needs." Alleras said.

Sansa stepped out from behind the screen. With uncombed hair, a tight fitting dress, and cheap trinkets, she could be mistaken for a brothel worker from the Street of Silk.

"You could use some rouge or perfume." Alleras said.

"No need - not for where.." Arya bit her lip, and said no more.

Alleras chuckled. "The secret passages. I am not an idiot."

"How did you know? Jon didn't tell you." Arya demanded.

"It is no great mystery. When the Red Keep was finished, Maegor the Cruel invited the builders and craftsmen to a lavish feast. At the end of the three days, he killed them all. It is obvious he had something to hide." Alleras said.

"But if the maesters know, why are they still a secret?" Arya asked.

"A rumor about spies in the walls is one thing. Mapping out the passages is another. The Targaryen kings used the tunnels. Why didn't Robert do anything? Well, he cared more about drinking and whoring than ruling." Alleras said.

Arya made her decision. "I will show you the secret passage. It is a small door in the hearth. You take the tunnel to the left for a short distance and then climb down a lot of steps."

Alleras bowed. "Thank you for your trust. Good luck, Arya and Sansa."

Arya opened the hearth. "Follow me, Sansa. Chett will be behind you." She went down the narrow staircase. At the bottom, on the mosaic of the dragon, two yellow eyes greeted them. Balerion turned and led the way West.

* * *

Brienne found the stable near a sign of a rack of dark antlers on green. They had gone through the gates unchallenged, a testament to both the white cloak and the overwhelmed guards. Brienne took off the great helm after they exited the castle. The Winter Town boys left soon after. Before they disappeared into the crowds of small folk, Brienne saw them rounding up younger urchins. Silver flashed in the hands of the Northern boys.

A tow-haired stable boy brought out two saddled horses - a sturdy bay mare and a chestnut palfrey. Before she could retrieve a copper star from her pouch, the boy gasped and ran away. She turned to see a familiar scarred face. The Hound drew his sword.

"Give me back Sansa Stark."

Brienne would not fail her oath to Lady Catelyn and House Stark. She would save Sansa or die trying. "No, Ser. I will not let you drag the lady back to that mockery of a wedding."

The Hound grunted and Brienne readied her blade for battle. A frightened voice stopped them as the girl raised her veil, revealing dark hair and a skinny face. "I am not Sansa Stark."

Brienne whirled back in shock. "What?"

Sandor Clegane lowered his sword. "Don't you even know who you are guarding?"

"I thought that was Lady Sansa." Brienne stammered.

The Hound's laugh was a raspy snarl. "The Starks tricked you. They expected you to be captured and killed."

The girl shook her head. "Not true. I would give my life for Sansa. But Arya pointed out that if they found me, all I would be is a whore with a grey and white cloak. They would let us go."

"Arya Stark is here too? The Starks have balls of steel. What is your name, girl?"

"Jeyne Poole."

Clegane squinted. "Poole - you are the steward's girl that Baelish had raped over and over."

"How dare you say such a thing to a lady!" Brienne cried. The Hound rolled his eyes.

"He speaks the truth. I do not have to pretend to be a whore" Jeyne shivered. "What do you plan to do with me, Ser?"

"I will not let you take her back to the Lannisters." Brienne said.

"Why would I? There is no reward for Jeyne Poole. Where are you going, girl?"

Brienne interposed herself between Clegane and the hesitant girl. "Why should we tell you? So you can betray us to the Iron Throne?"

The Hound spat on the ground. "Even a dog gets tired of being kicked. I liked the little bird. If I know she is safe, I will let you go."

Brienne looked at him with shock. "You wear a white cloak. You are a kingsguard. Why would you abandon your service to King Joffrey?"

"Joffrey is a cunt. The Lannisters are all cunts. Now maybe the Starks are too. And maybe they are not. Are the Starks cunts?"

"The Starks are an honorable house." Brienne said, ignoring the Hound's crude remarks.

"Oh, cut the horseshit. What do you think, girl?" Clegane said.

"Lord Stark was an honest and honorable man. His sons take after him, and Sansa has always been my good friend." Jeyne replied.

Sandor Clegane considered her words for a moment. "Well, I would rather take my chances with the Starks than listen to Joffrey rant. My horse is tied up near the city walls on the Rush. I will get it and bring you back to the little bird."

"Lady Poole, I do not know if we can trust Clegane. He is an oathbreaker." Brienne said.

"Oh, stop being a nancy. I am the one breaking the oath, not you. If I go back to the Red Keep without Sansa Stark, I will be punished. If I run away from King's Landing, the Lannisters will send men to hunt me down. And if I fight Jon Snow, he will burn me alive. Seems to me better to escort you idiots wherever you are going." The Hound said.

Brienne sighed. The mission to rescue Sansa had not gone the way of songs.

* * *

The Stark girls were gone. Luring the Mountain was simple - wildfire. Alleras touched a lit torch to wall hangings. Flames spread from the sweet rushes on the floor to the canopied bed . Smoke covered the dressers, the screen, a chest of books, and the hearth. The fire would seal off the secret passage so that no one could follow. She walked down the floors of the tower, splashing the vials of wildfire wherever she went. In the solar, she shattered the golden-tinted round window, so that the glass fell on the bailey below. On the upper floors of the tower, green tongues of flame could be seen.

There was risk of course in burning down the Tower of the Hand. For one, the fires might spread out of control. Gregor Clegane might come with a band of soldiers. Alleras trusted that she could escape one man but a dozen would be more difficult to elude. And finally, she did not know how soon her father would arrive. She continued to set small fires and wait for the Mountain.

* * *

"How did you discover these passages?" Owen said in wonder.

"My sister Arya discovered them, when Ned Stark was Hand of the King." Jon replied.

After tossing the last jars, Jon and Owen made their way to the castle's upper levels through the tunnels. They exited near the RiverWalk. Few guards remained above the steps, as they had rushed to the yards below. They walked to the Maidenvault.

"Do the other Reach men stay here with you?" Jon asked.

"Mostly it is Lady Margaery and her cousins. She has many, many cousins." Owen said.

Jon pointed to the group returning from the sept. "Look, the Tyrells are coming." When Owen turned, Jon hit him on the back of the head with the crossbow butt. He set Owen down on the ground, and checked the pulse. Owen would wake, perhaps in an hour. More than enough time.

* * *

The Tyrells wore green - velvets trimmed with sable and ermine for the men, and silks and chiffons for the ladies. The entire party was decked out in the wealth of Highgarden - mantles with golden thread, jeweled flowers set in armor and brooches, and helms chased with gold.

"Now that Sansa Stark has escaped, we can marry her to Willias." Mace Tyrell boomed.

"Hush, father. You cannot say such things in the Red Keep." The girl spoke in a low voice. The old lady, walking hand in hand with the girl, only glared at Mace.

"We do not know whether our offer would be accepted. After her ordeal, she may simply wish to return home." Garlan said.

"Not accept Willas?" Mace turned incredulously. "Willas is the heir to Highgarden and Lady Sansa would become sister in law to the queen."

"She would also be sister in law to the king." Olenna said scathingly.

One of the seven foot giants went to open the tall curved doors of the Maidenvault. Jon darted from the shadows and grabbed the girl by her cloak, wrenching her from her grandmother's arm. Margary stifled a scream when she felt the cocked tip of the crossbow part her golden brown curls and rest on her pale neck.

"Good to see you again, Garlan. Lord Tyrell, Lady Alerie, Ser Loras. And you must be the famous Queen of Thorns."

"Jon Snow. We thought you ran down the steps." Garlan said.

"I did. I came back up."

"Unhand her. Or I will carve you into pieces." Loras said, drawing his sword.

"You can not reach me before I shoot. Your sister would die first."

"Stay back, Loras." Margaery said.

Olenna stepped in front of the gawking Lord Mace. "You have already freed your sister. What do you want, Snow? We will shower you in gold for my granddaughter."

"Do you really think I care about gold?" Jon backed away, using the girl as cover. "I need to borrow the lady. Do nothing rash and she will be unharmed."

"Bastard. You won't escape with my sister. I will.." Loras stopped his rant when Garlan placed an arm to block his brother's advance.

"Snow, what do you want with Margaery? She has done nothing against House Stark. She was kind to Lady Sansa." Garlan said.

"Kind enough to attend her wedding. I need Lady Margaery for only a short time. Do not raise the alarm for a thousand beats." They departed, leaving the shocked Tyrells behind.

* * *

They passed the kennels and stables, and turned left at the small godswood with young elm and alder trees. They walked past oblivious servants, the crossbow hidden under the green cloak.

"Do you plan to kill me?" Margaery asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

"No, my lady. I would prefer you unharmed."

Her shoulders relaxed. "Do you mean to steal me and take me North as some prize of war?"

Jon snickered. "To marry Robb Stark? This isn't some story of Jonquil and her fool Florian."

"Then where are you taking me? How do you plan to escape the castle if you are going away from the steps?" Margaery asked.

"Who said we are escaping?" Jon opened the bronze and oak doors of the Great Hall.

* * *

Alleras heard loud footfalls on the floor underneath. She regretted not bringing her goldenheart bow. She could core an apple at a hundred paces with a three foot shaft. Still, no daughter of Oberyn Martell was helpless. She held a loop with her left hand and whirled the rope with her right hand. A steel dagger was tied to the end, and the rope dart reached 15 feet long.

Heavy steps rang out on the staircase. The rope twirled faster and faster. Finally, when the great helm appeared, she placed the right hand on the left shoulder, and turned the other shoulder. The rope whipped about the left side and came around the right hip. The knife rushed forward, hitting Gregor Clegane hard on the chest. The blade bounced off the steel breastplate.

The Mountain roared in anger and rushed forward. Alleras jerked the blade back and whipped the rope around the armored knees, like a bolo. She pulled, and the Mountain fell. Alleras spun the rope quickly, smashing the knife down on the helmet. Again, the knife bounced ineffectively.

The Mountain rose. "I am going to kill you girl. I am going to rape you and then smash your fucking head in."

Alleras cursed inwardly. She could stay out of the Mountain's reach but the rope dart could not penetrate the thick armor. She ducked under the blade, and ran down the stairs.

Ser Gregor Clegane followed, tromping down to the Small Hall. But Alleras was not alone. There were three other girls and a tall slender dark haired man holding a long spear.

"My name is Oberyn Martell. You killed my sister. Prepare to die."

The Mountain laughed at the puny opponent. As Clegane stepped forth, the man spun the spear quickly and then smashed the sharp edge against the visor. The blade did not penetrate the thick helm but the Mountain's head snapped back. Clegane raised the enormous shield and approached. The battle was on.

"Elia Martell. Say her name." The Red Viper repeated as he thrust, spun and dodged.

Her father circled and jabbed, forcing the big man to turn and turn again. Oberyn landed many hits but the spear could only dent the heavy plate. The Mountain responded with loud grunts and powerful swipes. Clegane was massive and surprisingly quick. Her father was more skilled at fighting. Still, if the Mountain landed a blow, it might cleave the Red Viper in half.

"Sister, the flames are coming. Rather lovely." Tyene pointed at the green tongues of wildfire that spread down the circular staircase.

"I wish I had a spear." Obara cursed. "I would love to stab the Mountain in the back."

"That's it." Alleras declared. "Daggers have no chance but I know how we can help Father. Find a staff, or a long piece of wood." Obara ripped the planks out of a long trestle bench.

Alleras took out the last vial of wildfire. She poured some over the steel dagger at the end of the long rope, and the rest on the ends of the wooden slats. The wildfire sparked and the weapons began to burn.

Alleras spun her rope and smashed the flaming knife on a giant pauldron. Obara swung and slammed the makeshift staff into the broad back. But it wasn't the force or the knife that bothered the Mountain. It was the fire.

"Stay out of reach and burn him. Cook him alive in the armor." Alleras said.

The Sand Snakes attacked the tiring Gregor Clegane from behind. The flames took their toll even as their sire spun his spear faster and faster, aiming for joints, gaps, and any weak spots. Alleras didn't even bother to swing. She looped the rope about the massive metal vambraces, rerebraces and pauldrons, allowing the wildfire to burn.

"Confess. You killed her. You raped her. Who gave the order? Who?" Oberyn Martell cried.

Suddenly, Clegane surged forward and lashed out, barely missing her father's head. The Viper smiled and rammed the spear directly against a gap between the faulds protecting the waist and the tassets covering the thigh. At last, the spear broke through and the tip cut the Mountain's belly. Oberyn attacked again and again, twisting the blade, thrusting the point, and slashing the edges. Cuts could be seen on the belly and thighs. As the beast howled in pain, Obara smashed down with her wooden club on the left elbow, jarring loose the shield.

"Confess. You killed my sister. You raped her. Who gave the order?" Oberyn yelled.

The Mountain stood up, blood and scorch marks on his armor. With a freakish burst, he rushed out, shattering the stained glass window as he plunged several floors down over the ramparts, the massive body crashing into stone and earth with a gigantic thud. Air rushed into the Small Hall, and the green flames spread further along the high vaulted ceiling.

"Father, we have to get out." Alleras cried."The wildfire is burning hotter."

"The Mountain is as good as dead. Nothing can survive manticore venom" Tyene said serenely.

"Good as dead is not dead. And the Mountain never confessed. He never named Tywin."

Oberyn and his daughters rushed down the flight of stairs and burst into the yard. The Mountain was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

The Iron Throne was a poorly constructed monstrosity. It was not just the fanged blades and barbs that jutted out the sides and the top, a crest of twisted swords hanging over the king. The steps were chipped and the entire structure tilted to the right. Even the chair was cold and hard, with sharp edges that could cut arms and legs. It was a damnably uncomfortable seat.

After barring the oak and bronze doors, Jon tied Margaery's hands to a column in front of the dais. Then he went to the door behind the throne and rolled out three casks he stored that morning. Using a pulley, he suspended the two larger barrels in the air with ropes. The third cask rested on the top step. Jon kicked it over to the side, and removed the bunghole.

"Is that wildfire?" Margaery cried.

"Yes." He descended the steps.

The girl bowed her head. "How much do those barrels hold?"

"I don't know, my lady."

"Your grace." Margaery said.

"Pardon?"

"I am betrothed to the king. If I am to die, I would prefer to be called your grace. It is my title."

Jon smiled. "I promised not to harm you. I will keep my word, your grace."

She was lost in her thoughts. "I have always wanted to be Queen. I guess that will never be."

"Why do you want to be Queen?"

"So I can help others. As Queen, I can give alms to the poor, and provide for orphans and widows. I can be a patron of the arts and the Citadel."

"You want to be the Good Queen Alysanne. That won't happen." Jon said.

"Why not?"

"The Good Queen was married to the Old King. You are betrothed to Joffrey who is more Maegor than Jaehaerys."

"Joffrey might not become another Maegor."

"Joffrey is a coward, a weakling, and has no dragons. But in temperament, he is like Maegor the Cruel. The war could have ended with a simple trade of prisoners. Joffrey showed his true self by beheading Ned Stark. People do not change when they become king." Jon said.

Cracks appeared on the oak as a ram battered the giant doors of the Great Hall. The wood warped and the metal bolts groaned as the steady pounding dented the frame. Finally, the thick iron reinforced pole tore a small hole, and hands groped for an opening.

"Finally. It took them long enough." Jon said.

The doors burst open. Tyrell guards, Lannister men, and the watch poured into the room, Behind Ser Loras and Ser Jaime, the other nobles could be seen. Tywin though was heavily guarded and in the rear. Jon waited until the knights closed the distance.

"Surrender, Snow." Ser Jaime yelled.

"Unhand my sister." Loras said.

"Stop, Loras." Margaery's voice echoed in the Great Hall. "He has wildfire. He will kill us all."

Close enough, Jon thought. With a knife, he cut through the ropes tied to the pulley. The two casks swung down and then arced into the air, crashing down on the black and yellow carpet. The barrels broke, splashing green liquid all over the chamber. Pools of green spilled out, covering much of the floor. Jon lit the torch and touched it to the Iron Throne.

Wildfire had oozed out of the small cask, seeping into the iron and steel. A loud whoosh could be heard and the fire ignited, all along the spikes and edges. The Iron Throne burned, in emerald light that flickered, like a bonfire to the old gods and the new. It was an eerie sight - dancing flames kissing the steel of a hundred, perhaps a thousand blades.

Jon raised his arm again, and his intent was obvious to all. He hurled the touch to land in the spreading pool of green.

"Stop, Snow. You will kill us all." Tyrion shouted. His was not the only scream.

Jon dashed away, slamming the door behind him. He left before the torch hit the ground.

* * *

The torch whirled and whirled. The guards nearest ran for cover, even as Ser Loras rushed to his sister. Tyrion's boots were wet, and his doublet was drenched. There was no hope.

He shut his eyes and said a prayer as he waited for the Stranger. Tyrion wondered if the septons lied and that hell would be some nameless void, without wine. He heard a faint hiss, but felt no great heat. His skin had not melted, and his hair was not on fire. Tyrion cautiously opened his eyes. The torch had landed and sputtered. He reached for the dying torch.

"Tyrion, be careful. It could still explode." Jaime shouted. His brother stood in front of the burning Throne while the Tyrells freed Lady Margaery.

"I think not." Tyrion dipped a finger into the liquid. It tasted tart, crisp and earthy.

"My Lord, do not drink wildfire." Podrick cried.

"This is not wildfire. This is white grape juice." Tyrion said to the astonished crowd.

"But the throne is on fire." Jaime said. Green flames had leaped high into the jagged nest of blades on the back of the throne and twisted metal began to bend under the heat.

"Snow used wildfire for the Iron Throne. But the other two casks only have grape juice." Tyrion licked his finger. "Newly fermented. They grow these grapes on the Quiet Isle."

"Why would he do such a thing?" Tywin approached.

"Do what? Burn down the throne? The Starks hate Joffrey. Sitting on the throne will be impossible with all the melted slag."

"No. Why would he go through all of this? The three casks. Barring the door." Tywin said.

"Simple. Snow lured us here so his sister has more time to escape. Sansa Stark is long gone from the Red Keep." Tyrion said.

"But where did he go?" Mace Tyrell asked.

"There is a door behind the Iron Throne, reserved only for the king, leading to a network of tunnels. Aerys never allowed anyone to use the exit. And Baratheon never cared." Jaime said.

"A secret passage. Varys would know all the secret ways of the Red Keep. Wait, where is Varys?" Tyrion said. The Spider was missing.

* * *

The yellow and red carriage pulled by two dappled ponies trotted down the Muddy Way and stopped at the edge of Fishmonger's Square, well short of the Mud Gate. The driver jumped down, dressed in garments more suited for a longshoreman than a coachman. Chett looked around warily and then opened the doors. Arya exited first and helped Sansa out.

Shopkeepers were closing their stalls in the fish market, and carrying crates and casks to the boats in the wharves. The Square was not as crowded as the morning when the herring sellers and oystermen haggled with smallwives but the sailors were noisy at all hours. Tall tales had spread of the Imp's wedding, each more outrageous than the next. Arya liked the one where Sansa turned into a wolf with bat-like wings and flew out a tower window after biting Joffrey.

They passed the Mud Gate with Chett pushing a wheelbarrow laden with cod and crabs. The Wolf Wind and her sister ships, the Jolly Salt and the North Star were docked at the wharves. Maturin Manderly, eager and ready to sail, greeted them on top of the gangplank. Chett joined Clydas and the other boys and tended to the hungry children huddled in the holds. Arya and Sansa rested on the quarterdeck and waited.

* * *

Gregor Clegane convulsed and howled in pain. It was not the impact of the fall, or the burnt flesh on his back and shoulders. The cuts from the long spear had blackened, and the wounds were oozing pus. The Mountain fled to a guardhouse and demanded a maester. When a gold cloak hesitated, Clegane smashed his face into the wall, breaking a nose and half a dozen teeth. The guardhouse emptied as the other watchmen rushed to comply. The Mountain, tired of the injured man's moaning, lashed out with a steel boot until the cries stopped.

"Ser." A pimply brown haired squire approached.

The Mountain's hand shot out and grabbed the lad by the neck. "Where is the maester?"

"I don't know about no maester, Ser. But I saw your brother." The chunky boy squealed. "I saw him from the castle walls. He was riding with another knight. I think they had Sansa Stark."

"The Stark bitch? Are you sure?" The Mountain squeezed harder.

"Why else would the Hound leave the castle? He was guarding her the past two weeks."

The Mountain stood up, the hatred of his brother outweighing the pain. "Saddle my horse. We are going after the girl."

* * *

The Hound squinted behind them. The Tower of the Hand wore a crown of green flame. He is not alone in looking. River Row was packed full of staring fishmongers and harbor rats, jabbering and gossiping. The horses trudged slowly through throngs of smallfolk.

"How much wildfire does Snow have?"

Jeyne Poole only looked down at the ground. Brienne answered. "I don't know. I didn't even know he was in King's Landing."

"Do you know anything about the rescue?" The Hound jeered. Brienne shook her head. "Then how did you get Kettleblack's cloak and coat? "

"It is not my place to tell you. Ask Snow. We are following his orders."

"Good. Might be we get out of this city alive." The Hound tried to push his stallion forward in the sluggish traffic. Miles behind them, the Mountain had more success parting the crowd.

* * *

He smelt the perfume before he heard any footsteps. The eunuch was damnably quiet but the fragrance was nauseating - foul and sweet, a mix of rosewater and lilacs with sweat and piss. Jon readied his crossbow, hoping for a clean shot. But the dank gloomy cellar holding the dragon skulls offered many places to hide.

"I see your shadow, Jon Snow. Well played indeed. The whores were a nice touch. You used my own little birds to infiltrate the castle."

Jon spun to the sing-song voice, only to confront a row of black teeth, higher than his chest. He dropped down behind the jaw of a long dead dragon. The bones felt warm but then Jon realized the heat had come from the old black tom brushing against his arm.

"What do you want, Varys? I am in a hurry."

Varys chortled, a loud sibilant sound, that covered the scrape of boots approaching. "Merely curious. Who helped you? How did you come to the city? How many have you killed in the Red Keep? I found the dead bodies. The Grand Maester and the Queen's Kettle."

"There are all sorts of odd deaths in King's Landing. Why do you think I killed them?"

"Then who did? Was it the Martells?"

"Dead is dead. What does it matter?"

"I am the Master of Whispers, Snow. My trade is secrets."

"Like your betrayal of Princess Elia and her children. You could have taken them from King's Landing in the passages under the castle."

"Alas, the passages do not lead to Maegor's Holdfast."

"You lie. I saw you take the tunnel from the cemetery to the holdfast. Why didn't you save them? You made an oath to the king and the royal family."

"I serve the realm. Someone must. Not the king or queen, but the people. I want a land of peace and plenty. A place where the powerful do not prey on the powerless." the eunuch said.

"Pretty words. What have you done to make them come true?" Jon said. The black tom padded stealthily about the dragon skulls, stalking the eunuch.

"More than you can imagine. My plots grow and grow, from the Red Keep to the far side of the world. One day, I will serve a ruler who lives only for the people."

"I doubt that." Balerion hissed and spat, and Jon dove toward the black cat, and saw the eunuch's silk slippers and the bottom of the dark gray robes.

The bolt slammed into the plump belly. The eunuch lurched backwards and a Myrish crossbow clattered on the ground. Jon stood up and reloaded. The eunuch's blood dripped on the jaws of an immature dragon - perhaps Shrykos or Tessarion. Both had died in the Dance.

Varys moaned as he clutched his stomach. "I could have helped you. I could have told you Lord Tywin's plans."

"I do not like people who kill or mutilate children." Jon shot again directly into the mouth, the bolt pinning the eunuch's head to the cellar's damp stone wall. Balerion hissed his approval.

* * *

Arya Stark glared at the scarred burnt face, remembering Mycah, the butcher's boy killed on Joffrey's orders at the Ruby Ford. Sansa asked Brienne for an explanation but the Maid of Tarth only stammered unintelligibly. Jeyne Poole did not speak at all.

"Lord Snow did not mention any other passengers. The Stark girls, Brienne and Jeyne Poole, but no one else." Captain Manderly refused entrance where the gangplank met the _Wolf Wind_.

Surprisingly, the Hound made no move for his sword. "I protected Sansa Stark in King's Landing. And I made sure this one got here safe." He pointed to Jeyne.

"That was Lady Brienne's task, not yours" Chett said.

"What does that bloody matter? I didn't tell the Lannisters. I could have." The Hound snarled. "Besides, I need to leave King's Landing too."

"The Hound has forsworn his vows to the kingsguard." Brienne added.

"How do we know he is not a spy? He might betray us once he gets on the ship." Arya said.

"He could swear an oath. That he harms no one. We could let him off at Riverrun, or the inn at the Crossroads." Sansa volunteered.

"Clegane just broke his oath. Why won't he break another?" Arya yelled.

* * *

A guttural roar came from the Mud Gate. Sailors and whores ran as a freakishly large man in plate armor and bucket helm charged up on the docks on a brown destrier, followed by a much smaller figure riding a pony. The Hound's black stallion trotted away in a futile attempt to block the wharf, only to be swept aside by a slap of a massive gauntlet.

"Fuck me, it is Gregor." The Hound pushed forward, stepping onto the boat. "Pull the gangplank up. And get everyone off the deck."

"We can't. It is tied down with ropes to the dock." The captain said in horror.

"Then step back. Give us space to fight. Give me a shield. We will need them." Sandor barked.

"Why? We just need to stop Ser Gregor from boarding the ship." Brienne said.

Chett scrambled and handed Sandor a round wooden shield. It barely covered the Hound's chest, leaving the lower torso open to attack. The Hound crouched down, using the shield to protect the shoulder and head. The war horse balked at the end of the dock but the Mountain ground his spurs hard. Stung and bleeding in the flanks, the destrier galloped up the gangplank and jumped into the air. As the horse flew past, Ser Gregor slashed down and Brienne barely blocked the blow. At the same instant, the Hound plunged his blade up into the belly. The horse collapsed, bloody entrails spilling onto the quarterdeck.

The horse screamed, shuddered and died. The Mountain stood up, with the dead stallion guarding his back. The Hound rushed forward and the Mountain struck a two handed blow, shearing off a huge chunk of the round shield. Before the Mountain could strike again, Brienne was at the Hound's side and staggered, while she parried another vicious swing.

"Do something." Arya shouted to Manderly. "Do you have any long spears?"

"We're sailors, Lady Arya. Not knights. None of our blades could hope to penetrate plate armor."

The Hound threw away the ruined shield. Brienne and the Hound were two of the larger fighters that Arya had ever seen. The Mountain was an entire head taller and that head was enclosed in steel with only a narrow slit for the visor. The Clegane brothers exchanged mighty blow after blow with Brienne attempting a few thrusts before being knocked to the side by a fist. The Hound was strong. The Mountain was stronger. His armor was far heavier and Arya realized it was only a matter of time before there would be only one Clegane alive.

"Brienne!" Sansa screamed, pointing at a boy in mail creeping behind the Maid of Tarth. Brienne rolled to the ship's side and the sword only grazed her neck. The pimply squire lunged forward, eager to push his advantage.

Silent and swift as a shadow, Arya stepped behind the boy. Using both hands and holding Needle like a spear, she stabbed the boy's back, the thin blade slipping under the chain links. The squire's eyes got big and he dropped his sword. Arya jerked his knife from its sheath and carved a red smile above the mail coif, leaving the knife stuck in the throat.

"Chett, Clydas." Arya pointed to the dead war horse. "Remove this from the deck. NOW."

The Winter Town crew rushed to execute her order. Denys whistled loudly, and from the cargo hold, two dozen white-faced children with dark eyes poured out. With knives, daggers, axes, and hatchets, they hacked, chopped and hewed at the dead horse, rendering the animal into bits of hair, meat, and bone. In scant minutes, enough of the bloody bits were tossed over the side to create a path to the Mountain.

"Brienne." Arya yelled.

The Maid of Tarth nodded and pressed the Mountain harder, raining savage blows down the left side. The combined efforts of Brienne and the Hound forced the Mountain back, the great steel sword moving in a blur as it fended off both attackers. The Mountain took his right hand off the six foot blade, and punched the helmetless Sandor in the head. The Hound fell hard to the ground, and the triumphant Gregor roared, turning his attention to beating down Brienne.

Arya drew Gram, the rippled blade forged at Harrenhal for her name day present. She lunged forward and the steel pierced the back of the right knee, cutting through mail and boiled leather between the plates covering the thigh and the calf. The Mountain screamed, and Arya thrust her brother's gift into the left knee, severing the other hamstring. The Mountain collapsed to the ground, but when Brienne stepped forward, Gregor wrapped a huge arm around her leg, dragging the lady to the ground.

The Mountain's right hand grabbed Brienne's throat. Arya ran forward and sliced at the gauntlet. The awkward stroke only glanced off the thick steel with a skid. The Mountain somehow got up on his knees and swung the huge sword at the hidden tormentor. If Arya were a few inches taller, the blade would have chopped her head in half. Instead, the sword cut deeply into the mast, and gashed the heavy linen sails.

Arya scrambled, desperately trying to avoid Clegane's grasp. Brienne pounded on the Mountain's breastplate with two armored fists, only to be swatted away like a gnat biting an elephant. Arya heard Sansa and Jeyne screaming, and then a quarrel whistled through the air, piercing the right pauldron, the bolt's fletching sticking out from the shoulder.

"Get away from my sister." Jon Snow said, the black tom hissing by his side.

* * *

Jon ran forward and smashed the crossbow on the bucket helm. The broken pieces of wood covered the two eye slits. He dragged Arya to safety. Brienne took the groggy Hound by his arms and pulled him away. The Mountain shook off the blow from the crossbow, and tried to stand. Even on his knees, he was almost as tall as Brienne.

"I stabbed the Mountain in both knees but he is still fighting." Arya said.

Her brother picked up the Hound's longsword and faced Gregor, with Arya and Brienne flanking the crippled beast. Jon stayed at the edge of the Mountain's reach, only blocking and backstepping. He didn't bother to attack.

"Chett, how much wildfire do we still have?"

"Only one satchel left, my lord. Ten vials. You wanted to take it back North to study."

"Put them all in that large bucket." Jon continued to parry the Mountain's swings.

The Hound had regained his feet when Chett was finished. Jon tossed the sword to Sandor and the Hound warily took his place.

"Lord Snow, are you certain that the ship will be safe?" Captain Manderly asked.

"Safe enough."

Jon shattered the vials with the pommel of a dagger. The murky green liquid shimmered in the bucket. He circled the deck, until the Mountain, focused on the other threats, could not see him. Jon ran, jumped in the air, and slammed the bucket on Gregor Clegane's head. More clay and glass broke and wildfire dripped down the Mountain's armor, from the crest of the helmet, into the narrow eye slits, down the gaps of the gorget, and into the broken right pauldron.

For once, the Mountain bellowed in abject fear, like a bull led to the slaughter. Jon reached out his right arm, and a frightened boy handed him a lit torch before rapidly retreating. Everyone besides her brother fell back, Arya included.

Jon thrust the torch into the holes of the great helm, and a plume of green flame exploded upward. Sparks flew out of the eye slits, turning the helmet into a grinning green skull. In his agony, the Mountain shook off the fragments of the bucket, the worn wood now lighting up the harbor with a dark emerald green, burning on the surface. Gregor reached out in desperation but Jon stabbed the torch into the right pauldron, already broken by the bolt. The huge right arm joined the Mountain's head, wreathed in green flames. The searing heat did not bother Jon. The torch traced down the thick plate armor - the neck gorget, the top of the breast plate, the underarms, the gap between the gauntlets and the vambraces. An awful acrid stench filled the evening air - and Arya realized it was burnt flesh, burnt skin, burnt hair. The Mountain collapsed face down, writhing as the wildfire cooked the beast alive.

Jon tossed the torch into the water. He took the Mountain's six foot word in both hands. He lifted the fiery blade high, and using all his weight, slammed the sword down, chopping off the right hand. Jon hacked off the left arm at the elbow, and the right foot before carefully measuring his next attempt. He severed the neck between the helm and the gorget. That took two blows. He dumped the flaming flesh off the boat, saving only the Mountain's head.

Many eyes watched - some horrified, many afraid, and a few satisfied at the day's work.

"Are we ready?" Jon's voice carried over the water. The captains and their crews silently nodded. Jon checked that everyone was on board - the rescuers, the WinterTown Boys, and Varys' little birds. The mare, the palfrey, and Sandor's stallion were led up the gangplank.

"Let's go home."

**Author's Notes**

The Northern army has landed at Oldstones, and the king is Tristifer Mudd IV who won 99 battles but lost the last, ending House Mudd's rule over the Riverlands. The food that Wyllis despises is the menu from the Red Wedding, minus the jellied calves' brains and leche of stringy beef. The pork pie is a reference to the Frey pie baked by Lord Manderly in the books. Yummy.

In Chap 34 of **Dance of Dragons**, Brandon Stark has visions when the children feed him a bowl of weirwood paste. (LSD, anyone?) One vision is a pale, fierce dark-eyed young man, who slices three branches off the weirwood. This is Brandon Snow.

These shoes are a real thing! Crakow shoes, thought to have originated in Krakow, Poland, have extremely long toes and were popular in the 15th century. The poulaine is the pointed beak of the shoe that curves inward. And incredibly, only nobles and lords could wear toe lengths longer than two inches! The crakows weren't designed to add height, but the idea of a very long pointy tip fits the Lannisters.

The Dornish do wear a huge amount of copper which makes sense as the metal shines in the sun but is cheaper than gold. Copper is even used in their armor - Oberyn Martell has a gilded helm with a copper sun and Areo Hotah has a shirt of copper scales.

The Sand Snakes in the show and even in the books just look awful. The fight scene with Bronn and Jaime was lame. Wouldn't a whip be ineffective against any armored opponent or even a half decent shield? But conceptually, female fighters with exotic weapons are awesome.

GRRM based septons on priests. The bishop hat (miter) became the seven sided crystal coronal. I turned the bishop staff (crozier) into something carried by the Most Devout. The crosier had three parts - a sharp end, a straight middle, and a bent head.

As for the billowing robes, I researched medieval monks. Today, we imagine monks to be thin and always fasting. Historically though, monks pigged out! The fat jolly friar was an accurate stereotype. They led a sedentary lifestyle and they ate a lot of calories - suet, lard and butter. Monks were three times as likely to develop obesity related diseases.

Book Jeyne is a sad sad character. She is the one Ramsay rapes as the false "Arya Stark." I reread that and realized that Jaime told Brienne about the "Arya" plot so Brienne doesn't attempt a rescue. You can rationalize this because Brienne continues her search for Sansa. But the other interpretation is that Brienne just looks the other way. The Theon chapters with Jeyne are quite horrific.

Arya's sequence is time sensitive. She has to get everything done after the nobles have gone into the sept but before the wedding starts. Brienne has to undress, they have to strip Ser Osmund's garments off, and then Brienne has to don some armor. I don't know much about armor but squires were supposed to be able to take off a suit of plate in 10 to 15 minutes. With the black kettle surcoat, you do not have to put on all the pieces. Surcoats can cover from the neck to the midcalf. Brienne only needs a few pieces, the surcoat and the cloak.

The idea of the white and gray cloaks is inspired by the 1999 **Thomas Crown Affair.** The hero uses a ton of lookalikes to distract attention and blend into the crowd during the heist. The sequence is set to Sinnerman by Nina Simone.

Jon shoots a flaming bolt into one cask at the floor level. He also had put two more barrels in the cellar of White Sword Tower, one of the entrances into the secret passages. The entire Kingsguard is busy in Dorne or at the wedding, so the tower is virtually abandoned.

Chamfering is how wooden spears are made today. They use belt sanders and power drills but the point is to round the steel socket and to taper the shaft head for that precision fit.

Ellaria's character is quite different in the books. In the show, she is bloodthirsty, pushing Doran to avenge Oberyn. In the book, she tries to convince the older Sand Snakes not to pursue revenge. She takes her youngest, a seven year old, back to Hellholt, away from any war.

The Oberyn dialogue with Ellaria comes from the Conan the Barbarian dialogue with Belit in **Queen of the Black Coast**, one of the best Robert E. Howard stories. The two are discussing gods and life beyond death. The full quote is _"Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat & stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame crimson, and I am content."_

I like Oberyn Martell - he is one of the best secondary characters in the book and show. But manticore poison is supposed to kill as soon as the venom gets to the heart. They explain this in the book by saying Oberyn used sorcery to thicken the venom. It is so stupid - the Mountain should have died and then the Dornish wouldn't come off as so incompetent.

In the TV series, Sansa's hair is done elaborately for both the Tyrion and the Ramsay wedding. Both times, it is pulled back in a severe bun. The medieval ideal is a high round forehead and women plucked their hair and eyebrows often using copper or silver tweezers. So by ripping off the needles, Arya makes her sister look more low born.

The rope dart or rope javelin that Alleras improvised is an Asian martial arts weapon. It is a long rope - 10 to 16 feet - with a metal dart at one end. Skillful use of the rope dart allows you to stay beyond enemy reach and strike rapidly. Rope dart masters can twirl the rope around a foot, knee, elbow and even the neck. Alleras is not a master - she is using the most basic attack.

GRRM has said that Margaery Tyrell has historical similarities with Anne Boleyn (besides Natalia Dormer playing both roles.) I don't know if that is a comment on political cunning, bad luck in marriage, or a genuine desire to help the people.

The gold cloaks (city guard) really do have a barrack close to the Tower of the Hand. Clegane goes there after fighting Oberyn. The pimply squire is also killed by Arya in the books.

Castration did different things to the human body. Eunuchs were hairless and tended to be fat. They were also reputed to be foul smelling - probably because of trouble urinating. That also explains the perfume.

The eunuch's dialogue is part show, part book. Show Varys is an idealistic freedom fighter while book Varys is morally gray, and does a lot of terrible things. Show Varys is always shown as a good guy and comes off contrived, particularly in the last two seasons. I prefer book Varys.


	33. A Death in the Family

**A Death in the Family**

There were not enough troops. Then again, five hundred more guards would not have made a whit of difference. A thin line of gold cloaks and sellswords dawdled about the harbor in a futile effort to push back the throngs of spectators. That morning, clever merchants moved the market in Fishmonger's Square to the docks outside the River Gate. Silver stags and copper stars changed hands to the cries of fishmongers, tavern wenches, and street peddlers selling food and drink to a spellbound audience listening to exaggerated tales of the wildfire wedding.

Tyrion stifled a yawn. The destruction of the Tower of the Hand was not the reason for his lack of sleep. His lord father demanded that Jaime and Tyrion lead the watch and Lannister guards in scouring the Red Keep thoroughly for traces of Snow and his confederates. They discovered the bodies of Pycelle and Kettleblack in the royal sept. They tried and failed to identify the hundreds of corpses in the ruins of White Sword Tower. But the real work was combing through the myriad secret passages under the castle. A dozen teams of men armed with torches, lamps, and long poles were sent into the labyrinthine tunnels, and that difficult task had barely begun before disturbing news reached the Red Keep.

Somehow, the Mountain had followed Sansa Stark to the wharf, only to get embroiled in a vicious fight. But this time, his father's most feared beast met his match. Tales of the Mountain's Last Ride spread through every tavern in King's Landing. With nightfall, it was too dark to trawl the Rush. That was why Tyrion had come to the docks that morning.

"They found something." Bronn said, pointing to the river rats surfacing out of the water.

One boy waved a giant blackened hand in a charred gauntlet. Two other urchins carried a metal encased forearm severed at the elbow, and raised their prize in the air to the lusty cheers of the crowd. Tyrion sighed. This would not improve his father's temperament.

"The Mountain died unarmed." Bronn quipped as they walked closer.

Tyrion was not the only one curious about the remains. A dark haired man approached, flanked by an entourage of Sand Snakes and Dornish guards. He eyed the long and deadly spear resting in the man's hand carefully.

"Tyrion Lannister. I am surprised you are not drowning your sorrows over your lost bride."

"And I am surprised you are awake so early, Prince Oberyn. I thought you would celebrate House Lannister's misfortunes well into the night."

"Celebrate? Why - House Lannister has not suffered enough misfortune. The Mountain is dead but your father is alive. Your bastard nephew sits on the Iron Throne."

"Be careful what you say, Prince Oberyn. King's Landing is full of spies, and it is dangerous to speak against the throne."

The Red Viper laughed. "Less so than yesterday. Tell me, is it true? My guards hear that the Spider was discovered last night in the tunnels, shot by a crossbow."

"Not the tunnels but the cellar with the dragon skulls. The tunnels criss cross multiple rooms below the castle. It is all rather confusing. Snow must have killed Lord Varys after escaping the Throne Room." Tyrion said.

"That changes things. The Spider whispered certain promises that he won't be able to keep."

Oberyn was hiding something behind that saturnine face. Tyrion preferred his enemies rash and hot-headed, not thoughtful and composed. Vipers were more dangerous hiding in the grass. "What promises were these?"

"You don't need to know. A dead man. A dead plan." Oberyn said.

As Hand of the King, Tyrion had little choice but to rely on Varys. No one, not even Lord Baelish, knew more secrets about the game of thrones than the Spider. The eunuch had been whispering to the Martells. But about what? Had he placed Myrcella in danger?

"Oi, Tyrion." Bronn walked over from a crowd of smallfolk. "I spoke to the dock workers. They saw Clegane at the harbor."

"Of course they did." Tyrion said, pointing at the severed hand and arm.

"Not Gregor. Sandor Clegane. The Hound and Brienne of Tarth escorted a girl to a riverboat. The Mountain galloped up, and tried to kill them all. They were still fighting when Snow came, and burnt the Mountain alive and chopped him to bits. Then the boats sailed West."

"And the Hound?"

"He left with the Starks on the boat." Bronn said.

The Hound had joined their enemies. The Mountain was dead. And so were Varys, Pycelle, Ser Osmund Kettleblack, and three other white cloaks. And hundreds of guards and watchmen.

A short fat bellied man with thin balding hair strummed his fingers over a worn twelve string woodharp. "Lords and ladies, gentlefolk - let me spin a song about the rescue of a maiden from a horrible fate. Saved from the Imp." The crowd brayed with amusement at the harper's words, and Tyrion realized that the Lannister name had become shit in King's Landing.

* * *

Rays of light darted through makeshift cloth drapes erected for privacy on the Wolf Wind. Sansa Stark opened her eyes to see a cloaked Jeyne Poole tremble as she gazed at the morning sun rising over the stern. But they were no longer prisoners in the Tower of the Hand with a window over the sprawling fetid city. Instead, Sansa smelled the fresh clean air of the Rush, heard the chirping of sparrows and shrikes, and felt the water flow under the boat and the stiff western wind blowing hard against the sails.

"It wasn't a dream. It really happened." Sansa said.

"Yes, my lady." Her friend handed over a plain woolen cloak to cover the garish orange gown. Jeyne sat down on their shared bed, and offered to braid Sansa's auburn locks.

"No need. Arya is right. Better to be a free smallfolk, than a captured highborn."

"Are we free? We could not have gotten very far from King's Landing." Jeyne said.

Sansa pulled down the curtains, bathing in the golden sunlight. Brienne and Sandor Clegane waited outside. The Maid of Tarth snapped to attention while the Hound snorted, rolled his eyes, and returned to sharpening his sword. "Lady Brienne, where are we?"

"I do not know, my lady. But I know someone who does." Brienne said.

They found the captain near the galley, where the smell of sardines, fried crisp in sizzling poppy oil with peppers, wafted through the air. A dozen hungry urchins waited in line as the Winter Town boys served hot fish on bread torn from loaves warmed over a fire.

When they saw her, the chattering stopped. The urchins parted before them, and Chett piled a wooden trencher high with food. The smell of the sardines and oil made her stomach rumble.

"Lady Sansa, I am glad to see you well after a day of rest." Maturin Manderly said.

"Where are we, Ser? And do you think the Lannisters will pursue us?" Sansa asked.

"We are half a day's sail from Tumbler's Falls. And I doubt they can. Queen Cersei has ordered a fleet of new warships built - giant dromonds with hundreds of oars each - far too large to travel on the river. Even on the open sea, they are poor vessels, slow and hard to maneuver."

"What about the Gold Road? Couldn't we be attacked where the road crosses the Blackwater?" The Hound asked.

The Manderly man spoke directly to Sansa. " Robb Stark ordered the bridge at the Blackwater destroyed many moons ago. And the crossing is in the riverlands. With the victory at the God's Eye, no one will challenge the Starks there."

Sansa broke her fast on sardines, so hot that she nearly burned her tongue and needed to drink black ale mixed with river water. The dripping oil, the crusty bread, the fried fish - it was no lavish feast with exotic spices, fresh fruits, sweetmeats, and Arbor wine. The breakfast was simple food leavened with the taste of freedom. No meal could be more satisfying.

* * *

Robb Stark rode side by side with Lord Jason and his eldest son Patrek as the army approached Seagard, only a short hop away from the headwaters of the Blue Fork. Seagard was a walled town, set on a hill, overlooking Ironman's Bay and the Cape of Eagles. Encircled by three walls, the highest point was the Mallister castle but Seagard had a dozen towers of varying heights including the one that held the immense bronze bell.

Ten years ago, the booming bell rang for the first time in centuries, calling the townsfolk to shelter near the castle when the longships were sighted. The Greyjoy rebellion had faltered here when Jason Mallister slew Rodrik Greyjoy, Balon's heir, under the walls and drove the Ironborn back into the sea. The reavers from Pyke had never forgotten their defeat.

Smallfolk lined the walls about Seagard, cheering and whistling the return of their fighting men and the coming of the Northern army. Lord Jason held his blazon high in the air, a silver eagle on a purple field, that matched the winged helms of the eagle knights. House Mallister had a proud and noble lineage, more glorious than their Tully overlords.

"Lord Stark, shall we prepare you a feast?" Patrek Mallister asked eagerly.

Robb shook his head. "No, battle plans come first. Feasts can wait after the fight." They rode past the great central square into the castle. The three dire wolves followed.

The Northern commanders gathered in the solar. Lord Jason ceded the honor of the ornate wooden throne and Robb remembered that five hundred years ago, the Mallisters had been one of the many riverlords who had claimed to be King of the Trident.

"Longships have been sighted on the edge of the cape, perhaps five days away." Patrek said

"How many?" Robb asked.

"Seventy. Ships of the Iron Fleet that can hold a hundred fighters each but probably less than that. I don't see how Euron Crow's Eye can field that many men." Patrek said.

"Why not?" Robb asked.

"The Crow's Eye ship is the Silence. The ship is crewed entirely by mutes whose tongues he ripped out." Lord Jason said.

'Euron rips out the tongues of his men and they still serve him?" Robb asked aghast. "Why would anyone do that?"

"He is a madman, the worst of the Greyjoys, and that's saying quite a bit. He attracts fools and mongrels from all over the known world - monsters who lust for rape and pillage. The Silence has plundered ships from Ibben to Asshai." Wylis Manderly said.

Robb shook his head at the Ironborn. "How many ships do we have?"

"Two war galleys to defend the harbor. We have six longships but they are small, less than half the size of the ships in the Iron Fleet." Jason said.

"Two galleys and six small longboats? That is your entire fleet?" The Greatjon asked in disbelief.

Patrek Mallister flushed. "We are merchants, not raiders. We don't sail longships to sack towns. Our harbor is home to cogs and other trading vessels."

"But you have many cogs. I counted at least two dozen large ships in the harbor. Can they be used for war?" Robb asked.

The Mallisters, Flints and Manderlys had a hushed conference. "My lord, there is a great difference between a cog and a galley. Galleys and longships use both oars and the sail. That means far more of the crew have to work at rowing. An ironborn longship is shallow and light, and double-ended, so it can swiftly reverse direction. A cog has only one sail and no oars - so it can hold far more cargo with a smaller crew but without any wind, it would be becalmed, and fall prey to raiders."

"But without the need for rowers, a cog could carry far more fighting men." Robb mused.

"True, my lord. In a war galley, more than half the men tend to the oars. But every Ironborn rows and fights. That's why the reavers are so effective at raiding." Patrek said.

"If the Greyjoys get past Seagard, their longships could attack up and down the Trident, like House Hoare before the dragons burned them in Harrenhal." Lord Jason said.

"How skilled are the merchant captains? Can they handle their cogs against a longship?" Robb asked.

"The men of Seagard are good sailors. But no man can sail upwind. When the Ironborn stormed Seagard, we met them at the town walls. The squids would be delighted to fight our small fleet in the bay." Patrek said.

"But cogs would not be easy to board on the open seas. Their sides are much taller." Robb said.

"A cog has a high freeboard. Sailors can fight off one longship. But if a merchant vessel is swarmed by four or five longboats, the crew would be slain and the ship taken as a prize." Wylis Manderly said.

"Lord Stark, the Greyjoys expect us to give battle at the walls, not in the waters. The ironborn will hug the shoreline before the attack. Our scouts have sighted them on the western tip of the Cape of Eagles. It would be madness to sail our galleys forth." Lord Jason said.

Robb turned his eyes west toward the harbor. "War is madness. My Lords, there is only one way to fight and win. Never attack where and when the other man expects. Take me to the ships and captains. The squids pride themselves in ruling the waves. We will prove them wrong."

* * *

The morning mists off the river had faded into wisps of grey. Here and there, boats fished for trout and riverpike, occasionally hailing the three riverboats. The Blackwater was mostly deserted. Few merchants dared to travel between the God's Eye and King's Landing.

To the amusement of Sandor Clegane, and the astonishment of everyone else, Arya practiced the water dance on the Wolf Wind. Her sister stood sideways, keeping her balance while she thrust, spun and lunged with her two blades, one a smoky gray rapier and the other an even thinner dirk. The urchins gawked and gaped as Arya danced about the deck.

"That's not fighting." The Hound snorted. "If you want to kill a man you need armor and a big fucking sword - not nancying around like a ponce."

"I stabbed the Mountain through his knees." Arya yelled back.

"Only because Gregor was facing us." the Hound replied. "And he would have killed you even on his knees - had Snow not shot him with a crossbow."

"Where is your brother, Lady Arya?" Brienne asked.

Arya glared at Sandor and then abruptly sheathed both blades in a blink of an eye. "I will take you to him."

They found Jon in the dark cargo hold, examining several of the little birds, under the light of a candle held by Chett. He checked their faces and mouths, examined bony ribs, and had them walk back and forth. The children submitted quietly, without a murmur, and when each finished, they were each given several copper stars, and a sweetcake, soaked in honey.

"_Buzdari Iksos Daor._" Jon said to a boy with a bruised cheek. The urchin gave a shy smile, and munched on the cake.

"What language is that?" Arya asked.

"Pentoshi - a bastard dialect of High Valryian. I told him that he is not a slave." Jon answered.

"How are they?" Arya asked, as Sansa and Jeyne sat down on hard wooden boxes while Sandor and Brienne stood.

"Better than I expected. Half a dozen on the Wolf Wind with their tongues cut out. Less that number on the other two ships. Perhaps the others died more quickly." Jon replied.

"Who would rip out the tongue out of a child?" an outraged Brienne asked.

"Varys. He wanted spies that could not talk." Jon said.

"If I return to King's Landing, I will have words with him. How can the King and the Hand allow such horrors?" Brienne said.

"Don't bother. The eunuch is dead." Jon said.

"Jon, I never thanked you for rescuing me." Sansa said.

"I didn't rescue you, Sansa. We rescued you - all of us. Arya and I needed the help of the others. Jeyne and Brienne provided a distraction and the Winter Town boys were critical in the scheme. I did not expect the Hound, but no plan goes perfectly." Jon said.

"You tricked me into taking Lady Jeyne from the castle." Brienne said.

Jon shrugged. "It was the only way for you to escape. The secret tunnel in the Tower of the Hand is so narrow that a man has to crawl. Imagine if your plate armor got stuck in the dark."

"Still, you could have told me." she whinged.

"Why? How would that have helped? You should thank us for taking you away from King's Landing. What do you think the Lannisters would do to you? How long would it take for you to break from torture?" Jon said to a stunned Brienne.

"Snow, I want to thank you. For killing my brother." Sandor said grudgingly.

"We killed the Mountain. You, Brienne, and Arya. I only delivered the final blow. But I am glad that he died screaming. Actually, I expected the Martells to kill him. I wonder what went wrong."

"Seven Hells. The Martells were involved?" The Hound said.

Jon nodded. "The Red Viper hates the Lannisters. And he has wanted revenge for sixteen years. But enough about that. What about you, Clegane? What do you want?"

"I wanted my brother dead for many years. But now, I don't know. I can't go back to King's Landing, and I have thrown away my white cloak. Might be, I could serve your brother. I am a better killer than most. How much gold will you pay?" the Hound said.

"We have plenty of gold but do you really care? Did you serve the Lannisters for gold?"

"My grandfather was kennelmaster to Tytos, Tywin's father. He saved him from a lioness at a cost of a leg and three dogs. My father was Tytos's squire and became a knight. We served the Lannisters because of lands and a title."

"There is a lot of land in the North. But how do we know you will be loyal?" Jon asked. "Sandor Clegane has broken his vows to the Iron Throne. He is no knight." Brienne said.

"Gregor Clegane was a knight. So was Amory Lorch. Knights are not better than other men. The Hound is not the only man who soiled the white cloak. Gold I can give you. Land I can grant you. And a title, if you wish. But House Stark needs loyal men and women." Jon said.

"But Jon, the Hound murdered Mycah. Jory said Sandor Clegane ran him down and cut him in half with a sword. He wasn't even armed." Arya said.

"Who the hell is Mycah?" The Hound answered his own question. "Oh, the butcher's boy who tossed Joff's pretty sword in the river. They told me he attacked the Prince. I was Joffrey's sworn shield. I was ordered by the queen to bring him back."

"I attacked Joffrey. He swung his sword at me, and Nymeria bit him. I should have let my dire wolf kill him then." Arya said.

Jon held his angry sister back. "We have all done terrible things, Arya. What matters is what we do now."

"I am a killer, Snow. I've killed my first man at twelve. I have lost count of how many I killed since. But you have killed more. You had my brother's men slaughtered - and his pet rats deserved killing. You killed thousands more at the Red Fork and at the God's Eye."

"Death in battle is different. That is a fair fight, not killing an unarmed boy." Brienne said.

"You are still dead. There were a hundred Mycahs at the God's Eye. There will be no songs about their deaths. I have killed loads of people - lords, knights, merchants, aye - even children and women. But less than Snow." Sandor said.

"We need swords, and we need killers. The war is not over. Tywin Lannister, the Greyjoys - House Stark has enemies. Clegane, will you fight for the North?" Jon said.

"Aye, I will. Just point to who you want me to kill." The Hound chuckled.

"No killing for now. Just guard my sisters. And there is something else, something important." His eyes swept over the small crowd. "I want to know exactly what happened in King's Landing. Every detail. Every word."

"What's there to say, Snow? You shat on Tywin Lannister's head and sailed off." the Hound said.

"Fighting a war is more than swinging a sword. We need to know our enemy and their plots. What they have done, and why they did it. Joffrey, Tywin, Tyrion, Cersei, the Small Council."

Jeyne Poole spoke first. "I will tell you what happened after they arrested Lord Stark. They killed my father and gave me to.." Her face reddened and she broke down sobbing.

"Jeyne greatly suffered at Lord Baelish's hands. Must she relive those moments?" Sansa said.

"Yes, but she can speak to me alone. As will all of you, including the Hound. The more we know, the better we can prepare. Modesty will get us killed. There is no shame in suffering. It is only regrettable if we don't fight back." Jon said.

The crying girl nodded silently.

* * *

Two hundred Lannister guards in red cloaks, led by Captain Vylarr, patrolled the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Such a gesture might be symbolic but came a day late and many dragons short. The horse had already left the barn, after shitting all over the floor, the walls, and even the roof. Pyromancers surrounded the Iron Throne, and almost twenty four hours later, spectral green sparks still smouldered on the spikes and edges.

The Iron Throne no longer resembled a chair. The crest of swords had melted down, dripping grey slag on the steep steps. The spikes and barbs fused together into oddly shaped clumps. The twisted blades did not fan out like talons of some great metal beast, but rather formed a confused lump of tangled and tortured steel. After three hundred years, the once fearsome symbol of Aegon's Conquest was ruined.

"Only dragon flame, the fires beneath the earth and the sun in the summer sky are hotter than wildfire." The pompous Hallyne lectured a passel of apprentices.

What an ass, Tyrion thought. No one had seen a dragon in a hundred and fifty years, and if they had, they would never measure the temperature of their breath to wildfire. No, unless you were a Targaryen, the only sensible reaction to dragonfire was to run away screaming. Only dragons did not fear dragons.

Lord Tywin held court over a much diminished Small Council. Mace Tyrell sat in an oaken chair shaped like a giant green hand, complete with a fleshy thumb and protruding nail. The rose Lord insisted the ridiculous seat was a tribute to the mythical Garth Greenhand and the long extinct House Gardener. No one was fooled by the absurd claim.

"We found a few more caches, under the sept of Baelor and many of the city gates." Jaime said

"Why did you not tell anyone that Aerys plotted to burn down King's Landing? Had you done so, you would be a hero. And Snow would not have found the wildfire." Tywin said.

"The knights of the Kingsguard are sworn to keep the king's secret. And do you think Ned Stark would have believed me?" Jaime replied.

"Of course he would." Oberyn Martell said. "His father and brother were burnt alive by wildfire."

"I hunted down the pyromancers involved - Rossart, Garigus and Belis. After they died, no one knew where the caches were." Jaime said.

"I doubt that." the Dornishman said "There were several hundred jars in the tunnels below the Great Sept. Do you think three men moved them all? The alchemist's guild must have known." Jaime responded only with a mulish silence.

"What of the whores, Baelish? Did you question them?" Tywin said.

"I did, my Lord. None of them saw Jon Snow. He never frequented a brothel. Either the bastard is a sorcerer or he has spies in King's Landing." Baelish said.

"We need to punish Snow for his antics. He threatened my Margaery. Highgarden will not allow such villainy to go without a reply. The honor of House Tyrell demands satisfaction." Mace Tyrell was as dull and ponderous as his chair.

"Why? Why should we do anything?" Tyrion said.

"But the insult." Mace sputtered. "He endangered the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"If he wanted Margaery Tyrell dead, she would be. Snow has left King's Landing. Sansa Stark will never want to see this city again. We have reports that Robb Stark is leading an army up the Trident to fight the Greyjoys. Let the Northmen go North." Tyrion said.

"Why, Lord Tyrion. I thought you would be more eager to recover your bride." Baelish smiled.

"Do you wish to take Lady Sansa back? Then go, Lord Baelish. Ride for Harrenhal, or Riverrun, or Winterfell. Perhaps, the Starks will welcome you like they did the Mountain. Ser Gregor was burnt alive and cut into many pieces. Do you think the wolves have discovered your betrayal of Ned Stark? Go North and you will find out." Tyrion said.

"Lady Sansa does not know. So how would the Starks find out?" Baelish said.

"Sandor Clegane knows. He joined the Starks and sailed away from the city, after fighting Ser Gregor on the ship." Tyrion said, wiping the stupid smirk from Littlefinger's face.

"The Starks remain a threat to the Iron Throne." Tywin said.

"No, they do not." Tyrion said, his response eliciting an angry glare from his father.

"Out, everyone. This meeting is over." Tywin Lannister was used to having his orders followed, even by the great lords. "Not you, Jaime." The Old Lion waited until Mace Tyrell, Petyr Baelish, and Oberyn Martell left the cavernous Great Hall, and only the three Lannisters remained.

"Have you turned craven?" Tywin barked.

"No. I see no benefit in continuing to fight the North. The Lannisters have met Robb Stark and Jon Snow in battle many times. We have not fared well. Why continue?" Tyrion said.

"The Starks are a threat to Joffrey." Tywin said.

"Joffrey is a threat to Joffrey." Tyrion retorted "The Starks do not want the Iron Throne. Ned Stark arrived at King's Landing before the other rebels. He could have taken the throne, and Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon would have agreed. Ned Stark chose to return North. Robb Stark is like his father. He values honor and wants only to be Lord of Winterfell. The Northern army was three days away, and yet they did not march on the capital. What does that tell you, Father? The Young Wolf does not want to be king."

"He does not want to bend his knee to Joffrey, either." Jaime said.

"Who does? Joffrey is a vicious idiot. We should make peace with the Starks." Tyrion said.

"How do you propose to do that? We have no hostages." Jaime said.

"Robb Stark wanted his father returned as Warden of the North, and his sister Sansa freed. We can not do the first, but he has the second. Give him back Ice. It was his father's sword and has belonged to their house for centuries. The Starks may despise Joffrey but we will be safer when they are back home. Like Sunspear, Winterfell is far away." Tyrion said.

"No, I will not be called a toothless lion. Jon Snow defied us in front of the entire royal court. We are Lannisters. I won't let our house be shamed." Tywin raged.

Tyrion shrugged. "They laugh at me all the time, Father. They call me Imp, Halfman, and Demon Monkey. You told us many times that a lion does not care about the opinions of sheep. Let the wolves return North. We would still hold the Iron Throne."

"They do not laugh at me. They will not laugh at me." Tywin slammed the table hard. "I will pay the Starks back for this."

"How, father? Tyrion is right. No one wants to face Robb Stark and Jon Snow in battle. And that was before the wildfire. Most of our knights are dead and many of our lords are captured. The Northmen may be savages but they can certainly fight." Jaime said.

"There are other ways to skin a wolf." Tywin said ominously.

Tyrion sighed. His father never listened. There were ways to skin lions too.

* * *

They left their scowling sire with a pile of parchment and a trio of fawning maesters. Tyrion led Jaime to the solar of the Kitchen Keep, overlooking the pig yards. Last night, Bronn and his sellswords commandeered the servant quarters, leaving the dwarf with a spacious suite with a large bedchamber, dressing room, solar and privy. Even the pigs did not smell that badly, given the constant scents of the kitchen.

"Wine, Podrick." Tyrion reclined on a velvet divan, resting aching feet on a wooden stool. Jaime paced back and forth, spoiling the view of the Bay. "And a brace of ducks, roasted over coals with quails drowned in butter, chestnut soup, hot bread and cheese." He clapped happily at the full goblets of Arbor gold, and quaffed deeply, smacking his lips at the taste of oak and fruit.

"Tyrion, it is the custom to celebrate at the wedding, not when your bride flees." Jaime said.

"But I am happy, brother. Two days ago, I worried about the Starks cutting my cock off if they found me with Sansa Stark. Last night, I feared being burnt alive by wildfire. And today, I am free to drink wine and visit whores." Tyrion raised stubby arms in mock triumph.

"Tyrion, our lord father is livid. You know why he hated the Reynes and Tarbecks. He despises anyone who mocks House Lannister."

"Yes, yes. I lived in Casterly Rock. I am all too familiar with the Rains of Castamere. Well, I have given him good advice. He may be too proud to take it, but I have no desire to twist the lion's tail."

"I don't see how we can make peace. The North will never forgive the death of Ned Stark. The wolves hate the lions and Father knows that..…"

"Our father believes that everything that happens in the Seven Kingdoms revolves around him. He is wrong. Think about what Snow did and said at the wedding."

"What do you mean?"

"Jaime, if Snow truly hated House Lannister, last night would have been quite different. I stood at the altar when he revealed himself. I am a Lannister, even if I am short and unloved. Snow could have killed me easily. He also captured Margaery Tyrell. Her marriage to Joffrey is what keeps us on the Iron Throne. If Snow hated our house, he would have killed her. Think of how weak our position would be without an alliance with Highgarden."

Podrick served the creamy chestnut soup from a large tureen into two smaller bowls. Tyrion dipped the crusty bread into the thick bisque, sprinkled on top with smoked duck breast, goat cheese, chopped herbs and crisp croutons. He ate eagerly, while his brother only nibbled.

"Snow's anger is directed at the crown. In the sept, he talked about justice for Ned Stark, Princess Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys. Three of those are Martells. He saved wildfire for the Iron Throne when he could have burned down the royal sept. And another thing. Gregor Clegane's death was no accident. Ser Jacelyn tells me that Gregor killed a gold cloak when he demanded a maester. The Mountain was hurt before he left the castle."

"How?" Jaime asked.

"Oberyn Martell was seen with a spear leaving the Tower of the Hand. How he got a long spear, so soon after the sept, is the better question."

"Snow is in league with the Martells." Jaime realized.

"Perhaps, but there is no proof. We have no idea whether the Starks have other spies or allies in the capital. We have no idea why Varys was killed, or how Snow managed to kill Pycelle or Osmund Kettleblack in the sept. And there is no chance of claiming Winterfell without Sansa. There is no good reason to continue this war. There are many bad ones. Pride, anger, refusing to admit our losses. A truce, however temporary, would serve House Lannister better."

Jamie shook his head. "Father will never agree to that. He wants a dynasty that will last a thousand years. So that the Lannister name will live forever."

Tyrion wiped the soup from his mouth. "Jamie, that is a bunch of codswallop. Joffrey's dynasty may end in less than a decade. And even if it lasts, the name will be Baratheon, not Lannister. House Lannister has ruled Casterly Rock for four thousand years. That will continue no matter who is on the Iron Throne. Father's actions are not for our house. Everything he does, he does for his own glory. He hates the Starks because they have made him look foolish."

"He won't stop, Tyrion. Father will fight to the bitter end." Jamie said.

"So will the Starks."

* * *

Arya stayed out of sight until the Wolf Wind had departed Tumbler's Falls. There, the three boats replenished their provisions, taking in barrels of salt cod, salt beef, salt pork, flour, peas, biscuits, and beer. The Winter Town boys bought fresh fruits and vegetables from merchants - apples, beans, cabbage, onions, turnips and beets. A great iron vat was heated in the galley, and bubbled over with coarse oats and water, thickened into a glutinous porridge. The burgoo was ladled into wooden bowls, and then the cook added a pat of butter, blackstrap molasses, and a dollop of the greasy fat skimmed from the salt meat. Burgoo would never be served at a royal feast but the oatmeal and hardtack biscuits made a hearty midday meal.

Jon stood at the ship's bow after he finished speaking with Sandor Clegane. The Hound had exchanged his white cloak for thick brown robes, hiding his gray plate armor. He might have looked like a farmer but for the Mountain's six foot sword, strapped on his back.

"What did you find out?" Arya asked. A hesitant Sansa joined her as well, and the Stark sisters waited for their brother to compose his thoughts.

"We should have killed Baelish."

"Baelish, not Tywin Lannister?" Arya asked.

"Petyr Baelish had Jeyne raped again and again in his brothels." Sansa said.

"That is not the only reason we should kill him. Baelish planned to sell Jeyne as Arya Stark. He asked her questions about Winterfell, Maester Luwin, who was the master of arms, the captain of the guards, the master of horse, the blacksmith." Jon said.

"But they are all loyal to House Stark." Sansa said.

"Baelish would have had them all killed. And our brothers would be dead as well - Robb, Jon, Bran, even little Rickon. So no one could question that Jeyne was a Stark." Arya realized.

"It goes deeper than that. If Baelish planned to sell her as a Stark, who would he sell her to? Most likely, one of our bannermen."

"But our sworn houses - the Karstarks, the Umbers, the Manderlys, the Glovers and the Mormonts - have pledged their oaths to Father many times." Sansa said.

"Traitors always claim to be loyal. What if the Iron Throne promised Winterfell as a reward for betrayal? If the North fought the Westerlands in a pitched battle, Robb would win. But if the Lannisters could bribe and corrupt our bannermen, then the outcome would be very different. When we executed Lord Bolton, he said others would break faith with House Stark."

'You can hardly trust Roose Bolton's words." Arya said.

"No, but we would be fools to ignore them. Before I killed Varys, he claimed that he could tell me of Tywin's plans. Is Baelish working with Tywin? Or did Baelish have plans against the Starks that he did not share with the Lannisters. Lord Tywin might be plotting with others against us."

"Baelish always had kind words for me." Sansa said.

"So did Joffrey until he chopped off Ned Stark's head. So did the Queen when she asked you to write a letter to Robb declaring Father a traitor" Jon said.

Sansa Stark burst into tears. 'I didn't know, Jon. I didn't know..."

Jon cut off her apology. "Now you do. Baelish is a liar. His lie to Catelyn Stark about Tyrion Lannister began the war. The Hound saw his betrayal of Ned Stark in the throne room. Actions prove who someone is, words just show what they pretend to be."

"What are we going to do?" Arya said.

"We have no ravens and Robb is on the move. But we know now why Father died. He trusted too easily and valued honor too much. That cost him his head. Mercy and honor are wasted on men like Tywin Lannister and Petyr Baelish."

"I wish I slit Littlefinger's throat in the sept." Arya said to her sister's shock.

"He deserves a worse death than that." Jon replied. "He deserves to die screaming."

* * *

The docks at Seagard reminded Robb of White Harbor - clean and well ordered with cobbled streets. The houses were smaller and made of wood - not stone, and there was no great ringfort, buzzing with scorpions and spitfires to defend the harbor. The smells and sounds of brewhouses and fish market greeted them on their walk to the ships.

They passed by the war galleys and longships, making directly for the cogs. Lord Mallister had sent runners ahead, and the anxious captains waited by their merchant boats. Unlike warships named after great nobles or to strike fear in enemies, the cogs had unassuming modest titles, like the Merry Midwife, the Horn of Plenty, and the Seastrider. At least two dozen fat bellied ships rested at the wharves, sturdy seagoing traders as long as any Ironborn longship and wider at the beam. The high sides would make them difficult to board in naval battle.

Two Stark guards plunked down a heavy chest full of gold and silver, only a small fraction of ransom from the God's Eye. The captains, from ports ranging from Oldtown to far away Volantis stared at the shining coins with great curiosity.

"I want to hire your ships and crew for the fight against Euron Greyjoy and the Ironborn." Robb announced.

A short hairy man with bushy whiskers and beard dyed green snorted. "My thanks, Lord Stark, for paying us instead of merely taking our ships but the Crow's Eye will not fear cogs."

"My lord, they say you are unbeaten in the field, but this is the sea. Casso Mogat may be too blunt, but when have wolves ever done well in water?" a Pentoshi man said.

"There are wolves that swim the coasts of Bear Island. They hunt seals, whale carcasses, and salmon." Dacey Mormont said.

"But not kraken, my lady." a big captain said.

"The Greyjoys are rather proud. They will not expect any challenge from fat bellied cogs. And that's where they will be wrong. Gerry - " Robb said.

The tall blond boy came forward and put down a sheet of parchment. Sketched on the bow of a cog was a tall multi deck platform. "This is a forecastle, my lords. Archers can hide here and rain down arrows on the longships below."

The Half Ibbinese captain stared. "It might work but it would unbalance the ship. It would be too heavy in the bow and lean forward"

"Right - but that is why we will build an aft castle. Behind the mast and above the transom, we can erect an even larger platform. Because we have more space, it will be wide and broad, and a final wall against the ironborn ship. Even after they have boarded the deck, our men would still be higher and attack from above." Gerry said.

"But the taller you build, the harder it is to sail. The more weight on the front and back, the easier it might be to capsize in a storm." an Essosi captain said.

"That is true, Ser. But there is one last piece of the puzzle. Maester Snow drew this." With reverence, Gerry took out a sheet of worn vellum. Sketched on the main mast of a sailing ship was a basket like top, tall enough to reach a man's chest. It was a lofty perch, a wooden barrel covered in canvas, between the tops of the lower mast and the shrouds of the top mast.

"What is that thing?" The big broad captain asked.

"A crow's nest. A fighting top for the cog where the best archers can be placed. In the center, it will help balance the weight of the forecastle and the aftcastle." Gerry said.

"Aye, a crow's nest to shoot out the crow's eye. The Ironborn carry shields on the sides of their ships. That won't matter against our archers firing from high up. When they board, we will throw them back into the sea." Robb said.

"Lord Stark, these designs are quite novel. But the longships are already faster than cogs. We will be slower still with this extra weight." The short green bearded man said.

"You won't need to sail. I plan to take a galley out at night, and in the morning, race back to the shore. The ironborn will be eager to claim the ship as a prize. The cogs will be lashed together, and anchored near the harbor. The men on the cogs will hide until they come close. And then when they board, we will shower them with missles. Arrows, bolts, javelins. And I will give men spears to kill the squids as they climb the freeboard and decks." Robb said.

"We will need help from your sailors so we can build castles and crow's nests on the ships in a few days." Gerry said.

"Everyone will help. The North expects every man will do his duty." Robb said.

They would need everyone. Carpenters, boatswains and quartermasters on the ships. Smiths and apprentices and fletchers onshore. Trees of ash and cedar would be chopped down, and forges would produce arrow and spear heads. Even the women and children were enlisted in gathering goose feathers, splitting logs into dowels, preparing thread and linen, and making nocks out of horn and bone. The Ironborn preyed on the weak and helpless. They would find a very different welcome at Seagard.

* * *

The wind died down as they sailed up the river to the God's Eye. Arya had travelled along the blue green ribbon of water when she fled with the recruits of the Night's Watch from King's Landing. Then, Yoren had hoped to take refuge at Harrenhal, not knowing that Lady Shella Whent had already yielded the castle to the Lannisters. Yoren died at some empty holdfast, killed by Lorch and his men, after he ordered Arya and Gendry to escape.

Life had returned to the town on the Southern Shore of the lake. Boats bobbed on the long pier and docks and lamps shone at the large sept near the lord's towerhouse. Arya was not certain but she thought she saw an earth and timber hall to their right.

"Lord Snow. The ship is becalmed. There is an inn nearby and even holdfasts whose knights would be pleased to host us." the captain said.

Jon shook his head. "No, we must hurry to Robb's side. He will be pleased to see Sansa and Arya again." The Manderly man nodded, and walked back to the mast.

Arya sat down. The old black tom sniffed at her and then returned to feeding on the mackerel in her brother's hand. "Thank you, Jon." She had no desire to relive the memories of her flight.

"I want to see Robb too. Father always said.."

"The lone wolf died but the pack survives." She nuzzled into her brother. "Do you believe that?"

"We are stronger together than apart. But words are only words. A pack of wolves can be killed."

"Father said the Starks have endured for thousands of years." Arya said.

"The past is not the future. And nothing is certain in life." A bittersweet smile broke on Jon's face. "Well that is not entirely true. Winter is coming." Her brother's eyes stared down into the cold steel waters of the God's Eye.

"Do you think we will be safe? Once we return North?"

Jon shook his head again. "There is no safety in this world. There are only moments of less danger. We have killed a few monsters but there are others, lurking around. King's Landing breeds villains, like flies on shit."

"Do you regret it, Jon? Not burning down the sept or the throne room. We might have been able to kill both Joffrey and Tywin."

"We might also have killed the Tyrells and the Martells. That would be hard to explain to Owen and Alleras. Should we have killed everyone? It would be a great stain on our honor."

"It would have won the war. It might save the lives of our men, and protect our brothers and sister." Arya said.

Jon sighed. "I do not know. I thought of staying in King's Landing to kill Tywin with wildfire. I would likely have been captured or killed, but what is the value of a single life? You and Sansa would be safe, Robb would be King of the North, and the Iron Throne would have no hold on the Starks. A few lives lost - thousands more spared."

Arya smacked him hard in the arm. "Don't be stupid. You won't die. And you won't give up. Sacrificing yourself sounds like one of Sansa's stories about two fatheads in love. You know what they say about you and Robb. Dire wolves cannot be beaten in battle."

Jon smiled and tousled her hair fondly. "Anyone can lose. But we will continue to fight."

* * *

From the sea captains, Robb had learned more than he ever expected about winds, waves, boats, and sails. The waters of the Bite and the Narrow Sea were rough only in autumn but Ironman's Bay was never calm. Strong winds could drive waves twenty feet high, a danger to both cogs and longships. The last five days had seen cold and dreary weather with sharp winds blowing Northwest, forcing the squids to take shelter in coves along the Cape of Eagles.

The Ironborn were excellent sailors but not eager to fight ship to ship. The Pentoshi trader had explained the tactics quite well. The men of the Iron Isles preferred to board and fight, so they could ransom the crew and take the ship as a prize. Longships were too narrow to carry back plunder and thralls. Unlike the dromonds and war galleys of the royal fleet, the Iron Fleet carried no rams. In the cold and choppy waters of the Northern seas, ramming an enemy vessel would have resulted in sinking both attacker and defender.

Black sails bearing the golden kraken had been spotted fifty miles away on the coast. The Northern army was ready for battle. Hundreds and hundreds of barrels bristling with arrows had been loaded onto the cogs. Forecastles, aftcastles, and crow's nests had been erected on the cogs. All that remained was the final orders for battle.

"The galley will sail soon. All soldiers will board the ships tonight, so that you will be ready for battle tomorrow." Robb said to the captains and commanders. The Mallisters would accompany Robb on the Silver Eagle, the larger of their war galleys.

"Lord Stark, should we wear our full armor on board?" Ser Mychel Redfort asked. The Vale knights were entirely uncomfortable with fighting on water,

"For tomorrow, we have three types of forces. The greatest number will be archers, hidden in the castles and other platforms. The second will be the foot, and yes, you will wear plate and mail, and shields, and drive any who board the ships. The third will be the marines. They will be lightly armored and carry javelins, spears and knives. The knights and men at arms will form a wall to stop any charges or arrows and the marines can flank and harass the enemy."

"We will send them back to their fucking Drowned God." The Greatjon said.

"Only if we surprise them. The Ironborn ships are quicker than ours. Plus, in the morning, there will be a sea breeze blowing toward shore. The longships will be upwind from our cogs. We want their entire fleet to engage our ships. We will not reveal our numbers until they come close and cannot retreat. Our archers should fire at the last moment." Robb said.

"We will have other men in the harbor, my Lord. If they should swim for shore, they will not escape our axes and swords." Jason Mallister said.

"Lord Stark, I fear you underestimate the Crow's Eye." Casso Mogat said.

Robb quieted the Northern commanders with a glance. "What do you mean, captain? I would welcome your thoughts."

"It is a good plan, and the Ironborn have not seen ships or tactics like these. But Euron Greyjoy is feared for a reason. He has pillaged, raped, and murdered all over the world. The Crow's Eye is a dangerous man, hard to predict, and even harder to kill. He consorts with warlocks and sorcerers. The deck of the Silence is soaked red with blood." the short Ibbinese said.

"More likely to be paint. Euron Crow's Eye has not raped Seagard. And so long as I am here, he will not do so." Robb answered.

* * *

The Silver Eagle sailed out from Seagard into a clear night, propelled by a steady land breeze. The dire wolves stared at the stars and a full moon before lying down for a well deserved rest. All three had grown larger than a pony, but were still one or two hands shy of a full grown destrier. Robb rubbed his dire wolf's smoke grey fur behind the ears but Grey Wind merely opened his eyes briefly and then went back to his bondmates. Ghost and Nymeria had already fallen asleep, huddled together for warmth and comfort.

Robb chuckled. He had told his men to do the same - to rest up before the battle. Watchers had been posted at the bow, the stern, and the crow's nest, and the Mallisters assured him the longships had anchored at least half a day away. The land breeze blew west at night, and the Greyjoys were unlikely to row against the wind in darkness. Robb closed his eyes.

He woke up to a sharp rap on the door. A young Mallister page bore the captain's message - sails had been sighted at last on the horizon. With the help of Olyvar, he quickly dressed and went out into the cool morning air. His guard had already assembled - Mychel Redfort, Dacey Mormont, Robar Royce, Smalljon Umber, and other Valemen and Northern lords. Gerry and the other Wintertown boys readied the two catapults on the deck.

"You can't see the sails from the deck, but Wyl took a spyglass to the crow's nest. He says he saw the squids." Hallis Mollen chattered. The young Stark guard in question had already climbed down the rope ladder. "Lord Stark, I saw black sails on many ships, with lines of gold."

Those would be the Greyjoy ships. Their sigil was a golden kraken on a black field, although in truth it appeared to Robb a yellow blob with squiggles. "Can we tell which ship is the Silence?"

"The hull of the Silence is red, not black or brown like the other ships. But we are too far away to see." The Mallister captain said.

"And are the longships moving?"

"No, my lord. This early in the morning,the winds have died down. The Ironborn will wait to sail until the breeze begins to blow from the sea." The captain said.

"Get us closer, and then get ready to run for the shore." Robb ordered.

The Mallister men were skilled sailors and navigators. The galley looped about in a semicircle, hiding in the morning fog, until it slipped close to the Ironborn ships, but with the prows facing east. The Silver Eagle had only used the sails, choosing to preserve any rowing for a battle. Men readied their weapons but had yet to don armor or string bows.

The Silence was an ugly ominous ship. The hull and deck were blood red and the sails darker than the other Greyjoy ships. The kraken sigil was leaner and somehow hungrier, like the tentacles ravenous for prey. A motley crew of rogues manned the decks - some hairy and squat, others dark as pitch. On the prow, a maiden of black iron hung with outstretched thin arms, and unblinking mother of pearl eyes. The Crow's Eye had sewn her mouth shut.

The Silence was completely quiet. Robb wondered why anyone would rip out the tongues of men to command a mute crew. How did Euron sail on the seas with no voice but his own? The Crow's Eye was a madman and the Iron born fools to follow him.

The catapults launched the stones through the air. The first splashed short but the second smashed into the figurehead, jarring loose the eyes. A third stone crashed into the white painted hair and the head fell to the side. A merciful death, Robb thought. An angry black haired man with a dark beard and a patch over his left eye appeared on deck. The right eye was blue as a robin's egg, deeper than the pale blue lips. The Crow's Eye screamed orders. The Mallister galley sailed past, the eagle on purple sigil taunting the squids. The chase was on.

The pursuit took hours. The Silver Eagle ran downwind, heading straight for the shore, powered by a strong wind. The Iron Fleet followed, like a pack of dogs that had scented a fox. But I am no fox, Robb thought. The galley easily matched the longships cutting through the waves.

"The Crow's Eye may use oars soon." Jason Mallister said as they sighted the walls of Seagard. For now, the ships used only sails - no captain wanted to exhaust his crew too early.

"Why are his lips blue?" Robb asked.

"He drinks the shade of the evening which makes him half mad. They say Euron cavorts with warlocks and has visions of vile abominations, half man, half fish, that rule the deepest and darkest corners of the ocean."

"Half mad? Far more than half. Prepare for battle." Robb and his guard donned their armor, and archers strung their bows. The dire wolves stayed hidden and silent.

They sailed past fat bellied merchant ships, seemingly exposed vessels bobbing on the outer edges of the harbour. But the cogs were lashed together from stern to prow, and formed two lines, so that missiles could be shot from the sides without fear of hitting each other. As the Silver Eagle passed, archers, infantry and marines began to emerge on the new platforms.

The smaller Mallister galley, the Defiance, met them in the harbor with two other cogs, the Myrnaham and the Merry Midwife. The Silver Eagle turned so the port side faced the oncoming longships. The Ironborn, eager for plunder and blood, surged forward, swarming like crazed bees, raining volleys of spears and arrows as they prepared to board and take their prizes. The Seagard ships held their fire and waited.

The Silence stayed back, content to allow a dozen ships rush past toward the galleys. A longship with a gray unmarked sail was in the lead, and its captain, a tall man with white hair and a hideous scar across lips and jaw swore at his crew to row harder.

The Silver Eagle waited until the boat was nearly upon them, and the two catapults fired, heavy stones smashing into the high arched prow of the longship. Then the Northmen fired from all three sides. Arrows whistled into the air from the two lines even as the Silver Eagle, the Defiance, the Merry Midwife and the Myrnaham sent a deadly barrage directly into the advancing ships. Without shields, scores of oarsmen sprouted arrows, and the decks of the longships began to bleed red. The Foamdrinker slowed, but men on the Greyjoy ship tossed grappling hooks with sturdy hooks while others hurled spears to offer cover. The Ironborn attempted to climb over, but Robb's guard formed a wall on the foredeck, spears in both hands, the points aimed out over the edge of the Silver Eagle's sides. The forest of spears and plate armor protected them from arrows.

The Ironborn captain climbed onto the prow, trying to jump over the rail onto the deck. Even the high end of the prow barely reached the elevated deck of the forecastle. The white haired man, fenced in by Mychel Redfort and Roland Waynwood's spears made an awkward leap, only to be greeted by Grey Wind. The dire wolf ripped his right arm off at the shoulder before savaging the already scarred face. Ghost and Nymeria defended the stern of the boat, allowing the lightly armored marines to gut man with javelins as they crossed. And above them all, a storm of arrows rained from above, piercing the eyes, neck, and heads of the Ironborn.

More and more longships joined the battle, but all over the harbor, the same scene played out. The advantage of height in hand to hand battle was considerable. For missile fire, the North had the edge in height, cover, and thousands and thousands of arrows. Again and again, the reavers clashed against heavily armored fighters only to be shot in the face or back, or stabbed in the legs and sides by the marines. Slowly and surely, Robb's forces were winning, and the harbour began to fill with the bodies of the Ironborn, hurled or pushed back over the sides.

"Lord Stark!." Ser Mychel Redfort cried in alarm. After his spear had been caught in a dead man's belly, the Vale knight shifted to sword and shield, fighting like a legendary Falcon Knight.

On the deck of the Silence, a monstrous man with a shaved head and dusky skin hefted a shiny dark and twisted war horn with both hands. The man wore many tattoos, the most prominent a black bird of prey, talons dripping blood on his naked chest. The horn was enormous, as tall as a man, banded with red gold and Valyrian steel, and glowing with red glyphs. The cheeks of the tattooed man puffed and he blew.

**AAARRREEEEE.**

The horn screamed, a wail of tortured pain and primal fury. The shriek went on and on, and Robb could hear nothing else. He wanted desperately to slam his hands to his ears but he forced himself to keep his shield and sword. All about him, men cowered - both the Northmen and the Ironborn were stunned by the horrible sound.

**AAAAARRRREEEE.**

Euron's mongrel blew the horn again, and the howl pounded into the Silver Eagle like a winter squall. The mast shivered and the sails heaved and bulged like a bloated belly. The deck of the forecastle quivered, and the crow's nest shook, pitching archers into the rope netting below.

"Reef the sail." The Manderly captain screamed as the galley began to list to the starboard side. No one could reach the mast, and even the most nimble sailors stumbled.

The dire wolves took cover under the sides of the cog. Robb realized what that meant. "Fall down! Fall down!" He yelled to his men.

**AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEE**

The tattooed man blew one last blast, and the squall grew into a titanic storm. The screaming drowned out all sound but Robb could see the terrible horn shimmer with a white fire, and the muscles in the hornblower's chest twitch and the bird tattoo convulse, as if it desperately needed to escape. The planks of the Silver Eagle cracked and the rafters holding up the aft and forecastle shattered. The archers on the tottering platforms fell along with wood, ropes and sail. The mast broke and the boom fell onto the deck. Behind him, Robb heard screams of fear and pain. He turned to see the famed walls of Seagard tumbling down.

At last, the shriek ended when the hornblower collapsed, mouth full of blood and lips blistered. Blood gushed from the mute's nose, lips, and even the chest. The bird of prey bled red. One of Euron's mongrels snatched away the horn before it could fall. No one gave a shit about the tattooed man. The Crow's Eye laughed, surveying the hell the devil horn had wrought.

It was a strange boast. The Silver Eagle and the Defiance had suffered greatly, and the newly erected platforms on the Seagard ships were broken. Gaps and fissures could be seen on hulls and huge rips on the sails but the cogs had not sunk. The Ironborn were not so lucky. The Iongships in the wake of the horn blast were crippled, masts fallen, hull breached, keels broken. Besides dead bodies, the waters of Ironman's Bay were littered with the prows of wrecked longships. Euron Greyjoy had damaged the Mallister fleet. He had destroyed his own though, or at least the longships that engaged the galleys and cogs. Euron knew he would be defeated, Robb realized, so he protected his retreat by sacrificing his own.

The fighting men struggled to recover from the blasts of the horn. The dire wolves had no such trouble. After the third blast, Grey Wind, Ghost and Nymeria cleared the deck, killing the stunned reavers with teeth and fangs. The Stark sigils were covered in blood, but none of it was their own. Even a horn from Hell could not stop a dire wolf.

"Lord Stark, what should we do?" Ser Mychel said. He dispatched a wounded Iron Born with a sword thrust through the eye.

"Sink the rest of the longships. Our ships are in no position to pursue." Robb said.

The Silence departed West, leaving behind the carnage. The other ships were too crippled to follow. The water was thick with blood, corpses, and debris. Ironmen were clubbed or stabbed to death when they reached shore. Most simply drowned in their armor. The fish in Ironmen's Bay would feast for weeks.

* * *

The Silver Eagle limped back to the wharves, passing the barges and merchant boats tasked to return the Northern army to shore. As they neared Seagard, the extent of the damage was revealed. All three walls had crumbled. Last night when the Silver Eagle sailed out, a bright moon and stars shone on a dozen towers. None remained. Smallfolk, men too old to fight, women and children had taken refuge in the walled town. How many had died when Euron ordered the horn blown? How many had been trapped in the toppled towers? It was a ghastly thought - that they were helpless to protect the weak from Euron's wrath.

The Silver Eagle had lost a mast, sails, the top, and most of the oars on the portside. Still the war galley fared better than most ships, and far better than Seagard. The town was ruined. The docks survived but brewhouses and market stalls had not. Everywhere Robb could see signs of destruction and hear the sounds of mourning. The rivermen were stunned silent in shock.

"Lord Mallister, I am sorry that we could not help Seagard more." Robb said.

"My Lord, you have nothing to be sorry for. It was Euron and his horn from Hell. Had we fought at the walls, even more would have died. And the Ironborn might have overcome us and taken Seagard." a sorrowful Jason Mallister replied.

"Where did he get such a thing?" Ser Mychel asked.

"I can tell you." A man wearing a lambswool tunic of green and black over mail was escorted by Wylis. Two dozen Ironborn men stood uneasily, guarded by Wendel and Manderly knights.

"Who are you, Ser? And why are you not in chains?" Robb asked. The Ironborn captain's face was handsome but ruddy, the product of life spent on boats.

"Lord Stark, this man claims that he is opposed to Euron Greyjoy." Wylis said.

"The Crow's Eye is a kinslayer, a blackguard, and a far worse monster than the scum that man the Silence. I support Asha, Balon's daughter." the man said, fingering the seven pointed star pinning his sable cloak. "My name is Baelor Blacktyde, Lord of Blacktyde."

"I knew your father." Jason said. "He was a good man fighting for a bad cause."

"I do not fight for Euron. I am spying on him. Balon Greyjoy fell to his death from a bridge two moons ago. The next day, Euron returned to the Iron Isles. He claimed the Seastone Chair and the Iron Fleet." Baelor said.

"So Euron murdered his brother to become king? But what of Balon's children?" Robb asked.

"I am certain he did. At the moot, some captains supported Asha, others Theon. But Euron had a mute blow the dragonhorn and declared that the Ironborn would conquer all of Westeros. And then the fools elected him the new Iron King." Baelor said.

"Isn't Theon his father's heir?" Robb asked.

"Theon has been away from the islands for ten years. He knows as much about longships as you do. Asha would have made an excellent queen. Balon was mad, Aeron is madder, and Euron is the maddest of all. He will bring doom on the Iron Isles, and perhaps the Seven Kingdoms. Asha fled with Theon to escape being murdered by her uncle."

"Tell me more about this horn." Robb said.

"Euron claims he found the horn in Valyria but Lord Harlaw believes he stole it from warlocks. The man who blew the horn at the kingsmoot is dead, and his lungs were charred black. Euron says the horn can bind dragons to his will." Baelor said.

"Dragons?" Robb asked. A madman who ripped out the tongues of his men would do far worse with a dragon. "How could you elect a kinslayer as your King?"

"Lord Stark, men are fools, and the Ironborn more foolish than most. But many of us would see Euron deposed. His brother, the Damphair, is high priest of the Drowned God. He opposes Euron. So do Asha and Theon, and Lord Harlaw and several others. But everyone fears the Crow's Eye. He would not hesitate to kill us all." Baelor said.

"And the dragons. How will Euron find dragons?" Robb said.

"After Seagard, he plans to sail to Essos to marry Daenerys Targaryen and bring her and her dragons back to Westeros." Baelor said.

"Dragons do not answer to gods or men. Why would they listen to a kraken?" Mychel said.

"The horn. There is magic in the horn, and the Crow's Eye controls it." Baelor said.

* * *

Robb was tallying the casualties when bells rang in the army camp. One in ten of the Northmen had died on the ships. More were injured, and unable to fight. Most of the losses had come, not in the heat of battle, but from the dragon horn, when the fore and aftcastle and the crow's nests had fallen down. It was no comfort that the Ironborn deaths were greater.

"Lord Stark. A large force of men from the North. Two stone towers connected by a bridge." The outrider said.

"Fucking Freys." The Greatjon spat. "Where were they when we were fighting?"

"The Freys are always late. They are famous for it." Patrek Mallister said.

"Edmure would have been married only three or four days ago. Why are they here?" Robb said. He walked out, guarded by Dacey, Patrek and the Smalljon. He passed a tent where Talisa and the Wintertown boys were setting broken bones and treating wounds with wine and vinegar. That included smallfolk, who had fled the town with their children and their meager possessions, to seek shelter in the countryside.

"Lord Stark." Lame Lothar Frey rode at the head of the procession, wearing an absurd feathered hat over his fleshy face. Narrow piggish eyes swept over the army camp. He was accompanied by several knights wearing other sigils - three sprigs of mistletoe, a black pitchfork and a golden heron with a silver fish in its beak. "I congratulate you on your great victory over the squids."

"You did not come south for that. Why are you here?" Robb asked. With muddy roads, it would have taken the Frey men over a day to ride fifty miles. They must have left the Twins even as the SIlver Eagle sailed from Seagard.

"My father prepared a great marriage feast for Edmure Tully. Alas, you could not attend. So Lord Walder wishes to bring you meat and drink, my lord. Victuals and dishes from the wedding."

The Greatjon snorted. "How? Your men are mounted on palfreys. Where are the wagons? Where are the cooks and the servants?"

"They are coming South, my Lord, but the wagons would take them too long to reach Seagard. Our men have set up feast tents at Sevenstreams, and dug fire pits and erected pavilions. Your mother and the other Riverlords wait to greet you there." Lothar said unctuously.

Sevenstreams, a village directly north of the Blue Fork, was half the distance to the Twins. It was larger than Hag's Mire, full of bogs and bad roads. After Seagard, Robb had planned to follow the Blue Fork south to Fairmarket to seek news of Jon Snow and his sisters.

"Lord Stark, our forces are low on provisions. I had hoped to feast you at our castle but after the Ironborn attack….." Patrek Mallister said. Seagard was in no shape to host any meal.

"We have wine, my lord. Barrels of ale. Casks of mead. Ale. Cider. Everything you could wish to quench your thirst." Lothar said.

"Very well. My men will attend tomorrow." Robb said. He turned to dismiss the Freys and return to the wounded.

* * *

The cold rain did not stop the boom of activity. Robb spent the morning speaking to captains and watching the Manderlys and Winter Town Boys examine the damage done to the cogs. There was much talk of masts, keels, rudders, hulls, and other nautical terms. Robb listened, nodded, and authorized gold and silver to pay for repairs. Gerry noted the amounts of each ship on parchment while carpenters and mates oversaw sailors swarming on board hammering nails, bracing planks, and jury rigging sails and beams with spare canvas and wood. Clever boys dove into the harbor to salvage parts from the longships.

Robb posted lookouts on the Cape of Eagles to ensure that the Crow's Eye did not return. And over the last night, Northern soldiers with the help of the Mallisters rescued innocent victims from the rubble. Seagard had suffered a sharp blow from the Crow's Eye but would recover.

Lord Karstark and the Greatjon had already gone to the feast with their men. The Glovers and the Flints followed, along with the Mountain men. Some Northmen chose to stay near Seagard but for most, the allure of ale and mead overcame any dislike of the Freys.

The horses were saddled and Talisa left orders to oversee the wounded. Out of the Winter town boys, only Gerry would attend. The boy had kept his nerve on the Silver Eagle, and was a great help to Robb at the docks. The Manderlys would serve as an escort along with the other members of his Honor guard - Dacey Mormont, Eddard Karstark and the Smalljon. Only the dire wolves were not eager to leave. Grey Wind growled and snapped, while Nymeria snarled and sulked. Finally, they began the ride to Sevenstreams.

The wolves were restless. Even Ghost bristled, his ears erect and the fur on his back raised. The trio of dire wolves watched the men with narrowed eyes, bared teeth and pointed tails. One would take a place near Talisa while the others prowled and hunted far ahead.

Once again, Robb wished that Jon was by his side. His brother could slip into the bond with Ghost with ease. Robb loved Grey Wind dearly but he was too busy with duties to the North and the war to explore the connection with the dire wolf. Then he thought of Sansa's Lady, who had been killed by his father. Had the gods cursed Ned Stark for that crime?

They had travelled over an hour on the muddy road when a band of outriders came. A knight and his squire approached until Grey Wind howled. The palfrey skittered and the pony bucked, throwing the boy and his longbow onto the soft ground. Nymeria growled and the pony ran away, almost trampling the boy. The Frey knight raised his shield and spear, but at an angry cry from the Smalljon, held back.

"That animal nearly killed my squire." The knight yelled.

"That animal is a dire wolf, Ser. And if you attack a Stark wolf, you will lose more than your squire." Ser Mychel Redfort said. The Vale knight was fully armed and armored.

"Enough." Robb said. "Why are you here? We are still many miles away from Sevenstream." At least two dozen men rode behind the Frey knight. "Pardon, Lord Stark." Another man with the sigil of the Twins said. "Lothar asked us to make certain you reach the feast."

"Why would we not reach the village? This is the only road North." Dacey said.

The Frey knight leered at the Mormont heir. "There may be brigands and thieves lurking. Deserters and bandits like this Brotherhood without Banners."

"These are my father's lands, Black Walder. And the eagles need no help protecting our allies." Patrek Mallister said hotly.

"Very well. We will ride ahead, to announce that you are coming." The Frey knight turned away, and led his companions north. The dire wolves glared as they left.

* * *

They made the rest of the trip in silence, with the only sound the rain beating down on their heads. Ghost and Nymeria had disappeared, although Robb did not doubt Grey Wind's litter mates were around, if unseen. They heard the music coming over the hill, a jangling rattle of some bells, and badly played flutes and pipes. The obnoxious din sounded more like a dirge than a wedding.

They passed the rise, and the camps appeared below them, next to the headwaters of the Blue Fork. Three great feast tents stood open in the middle of the pavilion, surrounded by dozens of Frey tents and wagons loaded with ale and wine. In the feast tents, hundreds of men crowded the benches and made toasts before emptying their tankards. Robb could hear the Greatjon along with Umber men belt out a bawdy song. The drinking must have been going on for hours, and still the wenches rushed about, filling up horns and mugs like their lives depended on it. Outside the tents, serving men turned huge joints of meat on spits above open fires.

A welcoming party of Freys walked to greet them. Lame Lothar led the group, but there was also Ser Ryman and his three sons, including the odious Black Walder that had met them on the road. Half a dozen other sons of Lord Walder stood by, but Robb did not see Stevron, Perwyn, or Olyvar. Grey Wind stepped in front of Talisa, his teeth bared.

"Lord Stark, welcome." Lothar began. "I am afraid your wolf will have to stay outside. He will frighten the servants."

The dire wolf in question snarled. Black Walder and Lothar stood their ground but the other men wilted. Robb tried to calm his companion with a quiet word but Grey Wind only shook the rain off, the beads of water landing on the Freys. "Grey Wind belongs with me."

"He will be happier in the kennel with a leg of mutton." A Frey man said.

The wolf growled, a rumble that Robb had heard only in battle. Robb stepped forward. "Lead me to the feast." Frey squires and pages rushed out to take their horses.

Robb sat at the crowded high table. The Freys had wished to seat him between Ryman and Lothar but Robb chose instead to save those seats for Lady Catelyn and Talisa. Lame Lothar said that the rains had delayed them but his mother would arrive with the other Rivermen. Ser Mychel and Ser Roland stood watch, taking turns with Robin Flint and Donnel Locke. His guard was forced to sit lower, mixed with Lord Walder's sons and grandsons.

The food had yet to arrive but the ale, mead and wine, flowed free and fast. The few platters of meat vanished as soon as the servers passed the tent flaps. The Greatjon drank and sang, and sang and drank. His voice carried through the hall, even drowning out the terrible musicians who could barely carry a tune.

"Is this too loud for you, my lady?" Robb shouted.

"If this is a Northern wedding feast, I will not wish to get married." Talisa replied.

Robb's eyebrows arched in faux outrage. "But what about little Ned Stark? The heir to Winterfell must have a father and a mother."

"Our child will, and we do not know whether it is a boy or a girl. We could name her Lyarra or Minisa after your grandmothers." Talisa said.

"We will be married at Winterfell, my lady. If the Gods be good, Jon and my sisters will be there. And Bran and Rickon." Robb said. Their talk was interrupted by a tall blond boy.

Gerry rushed over. "Something is wrong. I did not see any Tully men or any of the riverlord sigils in the camp. The Pipers, the Vances, the Blackwoods - they are not here, my Lord."

Edmure would have sent Tully guards with Lady Catelyn. And as for the riverlords, a few might have stayed at the Twins with their liege. But others, like Marq Piper and Karyl Vance, would be eager to hear of any battle versus the Ironborn. Yesterday, Lothar had told him that his mother and the Rivermen waited at Sevenstreams.

"Go to the Karstarks, the Manderlys and the Smalljon. Tell them to arm themselves." Robb said. At the feast, given the great heat and the cramped quarters, few wore mail. The exception was Ser Mychel who remained in plate armor. The young boy nodded, and slunk away.

Lothar Frey stood up, leaning on an ornate walking stick. "We have a special dish for you, Lord Stark." The drums pounded as two serving men carried a weighty platter to the dais.

Robb placed his hand on Talisa's knee with an assurance he did not feel. "Lothar, where is my mother? Why is she not at the feast?"

"Lady Stark won't be joining us." Lothar sneered.

A Frey man uncovered the silver lid and revealed the head of a black wolf, freshly slaughtered, blood still dripping on the plate. The music stopped as the pipers, drummers and flute players threw away their instruments and pulled out crossbows.

Grey Wind exploded into action, knocking over the table to form a crude bulwark. Still the table was too low, and only Mychel Redfort was fully armed. Crossbow bolts hit Donnel Locke and Ser Roland Waynwood in the chest, killing both men. Ser Mychel stepped in front of Robb, and three quarrels stuck to the red castle on his shield.

"Northmen, we have been betrayed." Robb threw his tankard of wine into Ryman Frey's face, dodging the long ax that slammed into the table. Ryman was fat, slow and drunk but there were a dozen others behind him. Below the high table, chaotic fighting had broken out. Five Frey men tried to wrestle the Greatjon down. The Smalljon ripped a table off its trestle and smashed it over the head of several Frey knights. Galbert Glover rose to his feet, only to be cracked over the back of the head. And through it all, the crossbows kept their deadly fire, killing Robb's guard. Owen Norrey died. Robin Flint. Morgan Liddle. They would not survive the crossbows.

A white blur ran through the tent, jumped onto the tables, and landed amidst the false musicians. Ghost tore a man's arm off and then lunged at another, ripping the throat open. The white dire wolf killed and killed and killed, and the crossbows fell silent for a moment. As Frey soldiers attacked Ghost, Nymeria appeared, and fell on their rear. The she-wolf feasted on necks and arms, her bite strong enough to crush the flesh under mail and leather. But more armored men entered the battle, carrying longbows and heavy axes. Frey knights protected the remaining crossbowmen. A kennel master released a pack of wolfhounds.

"Surrender, Lord Stark and we may let you live." Lothar Frey spat.

"What happened to my mother?"

"She died trying to escape. We meant to capture her alive but Ser Raymund killed her, as she ran to warn you. She almost made it to her horse. But the others are our prisoners - your uncle, Lucas Blackwood, Marq Piper, Lymond Goodbrook, Karyl Vance, the Bastard of Bracken. We killed all the Tully guards though." Lothar chuckled.

Robb grasped the situation quickly. Most of his men were in the tents feasting. The Freys had men outside, surrounding the tents, armed and armored. Besides the empty tankard, his only weapon was a knife for cutting meat. But he had a wolf. He slipped into Grey Wind's mind and felt a primal rage and a great fury. The first hound leaped over the table and Robb snapped Grey Wind's jaws about the dog's throat. The second wolfhound circled about more warily only to be swatted away by Ser Mychel's shield. Grey Wind quickly tore the stunned beast apart.

"You can't win, Stark."

Black Walder killed a Flint. Daryn Hornwood fell. Mountain men died from crossbow bolts. Harrion and Eddard Karstark were hard pressed, fighting back to back. The Greatjon was finally subdued when eight more men piled on him. Grey Wind bit through a man's arm at the elbow. Robb attacked again and again, tearing arms and knees apart. It wasn't enough.

"My lord."

Robb blinked. Who was calling him? The tall blond boy appeared at his side.

"My lord." Gerry said urgently. "I cut a hole through the canvas." Behind them, a mere ten feet away, was an escape route.

"Lord Stark. Go. I will cover your back. If I fall, take care of Mya." Ser Mychel said.

Robb hated to leave his men. But if he stayed here, they would all die. He took Talisa by the hand, and they ran, only to be hit by a volley of crossbow bolts. A quarrel sprouted in his shoulder and another whistled over his head. But a bolt punched through Talisa's back, the steel head protruding from her chest. The force turned her sideways and two other quarrels struck her in the belly. She moaned and fell dead, clutching her stomach.

Robb froze in shock. His father was dead, his mother, his lover, and now his unborn babe. Rage consumed him, and he went deep into Grey Wind. The dire wolf roared and charged. He evaded the knights to reach the crossbowmen. Robb killed two men before they could reload but a bolt hit the dire wolf, and then another and another. Grey Wind continued the attack, but the wounded wolf was too slow now, and could no longer dodge the stinging axes and swords. More crossbow bolts slammed into him, and everything began to fade for Robb. The last thing he heard before it turned black was the mournful cry of his packmates.

* * *

The blond boy stood over the warm, yet unresponsive body. With the few surviving Valemen, Gerry half carried, half dragged Robb out of the tent, before hacking away the quarrel shaft.

"Is he dead?" Ser Mychel said.

"No, he is alive, but not there." Gerry had seen those milky white eyes before at the Red Fork. But the Maester had returned to them. Robb Stark had not.

Fighting raged in and out of the tents. Ghost and Nymeria guarded Robb, and Northmen fought with weapons, shields and armor taken from dead Freys. Many were captured but a few leaders escaped. Mychel put on the white surcoat and removed any trace of House Stark from the body.

"Gerry, run for the Blue Fork. Find a boat and take Lord Stark to safety." Mychel put the surcoat over his plate mail. "I will distract these traitors."

"How will you find me?" Gerry asked as he wrapped his arms about Robb's shoulders.

"I won't. But the wolves will. And they will help me kill the fucking Freys." Ser Mychel raised his bloody sword. "For Robb."

"For Robb." Gerry ran south to the river.

**Author's Notes**

I always found the Myrcella to Dorne plot forced. The book argues that Tyrion is thinking three steps ahead. If KL falls, the Martells will try to put Myrcella on the Throne. But Tyrion has seen Sansa's treatment. Can he be certain Myrcella won't suffer the same? I think Tyrion is being willfully blind. Tyrion trusts Doran. Ned trusts Robert. But that is not the end game.

The singer is Symon Silver Tongue. In the books, Tyrion kills him when Symon tries to blackmail him to sing at the royal wedding. He is Shae's pet, and it is an omen of her betrayal.

Fried fish actually pops up quite a bit in Game of Thrones but the sardines, peppers and bread comes from Chapter 45 in Dance of Dragons, the Blind Girl. I like the Arya training chapters.

In A Feast for Crows, Cersei orders new dromonds after her father dies. And the flagship, Lord Tywin, has 800 oars - which is insane. In the real world, the largest war galley had three banks of rowers, and probably 170 oars. So four hundred oars is nuts. 800 is beyond silly.

Euron Crow's Eye is just as absurd as a 800 oar galley. Who would serve anyone who would mutilate them? How much gold justifies following a madman? GRRM does have a great rogue's gallery of psychotic villains but Euron is way out there. And unfathomably lucky in Season 8.

The actual Valyrian phrase is "Zaldrizes Buzdari Iksos Daor." A dragon is not a slave. I disagree with the Dany storyline but her attitude toward slavery is totally right. It was unfair that she never got credit for her good deeds. She was a shit ruler, but she was also a liberator.

It is an odd thing that Jaime does not tell people about the wildfire. For one, if it went off, it could kill tens of thousands. That's what Aerys planned, and how Cersei killed most of the Reach and the Faith, and probably why King's Landing exploded in the Bells. Of course he was 16 then, so that plays into it. But the entire I reveal my secrets only to Brienne seems implausible.

Tyrion's desire to make peace is predicated on the map. Westeros is much larger than the UK. The north tip of Scotland to the southern coast of England is 600 miles. KL to Winterfell is 1650 miles, about the same as Moscow to Paris. So once the army returns North, it would be a massive effort to go South again, buying the Iron Throne years to recover.

Tytos Lannister was known as the Toothless Lion and his bannermen took advantage of his weakness. Tywin never forgot that childhood humiliation. Guests at Casterly Rock mocked Lord Tytos to his face, "twisting the lion's tale."

In the TV show, Charles Dance has the terrific scene where he guts a stag and tells Jaime only the family name matters. Then you realize that the King doesn't have the Lannister name. It reminds me of the Borgias - they were the first family in Italy for a decade but their actions created immense enmity. As soon as Pope Julian II got elected, the Borgias were toast.

There are two types of burgoo - the mulligan stew made in the American South and Midwest but the original burgoo is oatmeal porridge cooked by sailors and pirates. It was served by the British navy a couple days a week, and quite filling. I took a slight liberty of using it.

A longship was 45 to 75 feet long and a width of 8 feet. A cog was 49 to 82 feet long but 16 to 26 feet wide, and could carry 200 tons. Even before cannons, cogs began to replace longships in warfare. The longship is great for surprise attacks, but the armed cog wins. The freeboard of a longship was two feet. A cog's freeboard might be ten plus feet. Tough to board!

Robb's tactics come from the Battle of Sluys. The French had galleys, shallow draught vessels propelled by banks of oars. Like longships, the galleys were highly maneuverable and better at raiding. In fact, in 1340, the French were better sailors than the English! The English did not have a purpose built navy. Edward only had three warships. He requisitioned cogs and converted them by adding wooden castles at the bow and stern. That allowed the English longbow to crush the French crossbowmen. Edward III won the battle decisively.

Historians disagree about the origin of the crow's nest. According to legend, Vikings would release a crow or raven to determine where land was in times of poor visibility. But it is hard to understand why they would do so from the top of a mast. William Scoresby is credited with inventing a crow's nest as a lookout on whalers in 1807. But basket shaped structures were common by the 15th century. The English definitely had platforms to shoot arrows in 1340. Tops were used by marines with rifles, muskets and small cannons into the 1800s.

There are far fewer naval battles than land ones in the Middle Ages. But I am a big fan of the Vikings. They were excellent sailors, but refrained from ship to ship battles. They specialized in hit and run raids to gain loot and slaves. The few Viking naval battles were against other Vikings, and they would lash their boats together with shield walls in the front and archers in the back. The tactics are simple compared to a few hundred years later. Roger of Lauria, the admiral of Aragon (modern day Catalonia), would have massacred the Vikings.

The English word marine is only a few hundred years old. However, the idea of a specialized infantry that supports army and naval operations has been around for a long time. In their war against Carthage, the Romans fielded specialized naval infantry called Marinus.

Book Euron is bonkers. The Aeron Greyjoy preview in Winds of Winter is Ramsay Snow taken up a notch. Euron admits to killing three brothers and raping Aeron and another sibling as a child. There were many bad things in Season 8, but Euron the invincible was very high on the list. And then somehow, the guy who killed a dragon and crushed multiple fleets was killed by Jaime who three seasons ago, got his ass kicked by the Sand Snakes.

The horn scene is taken from the Kingsmoot in Feast of Crows - Chapter 19. I am not sure why they didn't realize that Euron had Balon killed. The hornblower does die.

"Balon was mad, Aeron is madder and Euron is the maddest of all." Those are Baelor Blacktyde's words in the Feast of Crows. Baelor supports Asha at the moot, and is killed soon after by Euron. I made the dragonhorn a D&D horn of blasting.

Given the TEN! year wait for Winds of Winter, I have wondered about how the plot lines will merge. Clearly Dragonbinder is important - this is Chekhov's gun. A dragon is like a nuclear bomb. If you had any item that could control a dragon, why would Euron give it away? The average castle is far smaller than commonly imagined. Plus a lot of the space is outer walls, inner walls, baileys and courtyards i.e. they don't sleep people. There are exceptions - Malbork Castle is 5 square miles in area, and housed at one point 3,000 fighters. Winterfell is described as several acres, so bigger than a New York City block or 4 football fields. For most castles, any decent size army would have to camp outside.

I always thought the Starks and Jon Snow should have trusted their wolves a lot more. Robb did, until Bran and Rickon were supposedly murdered. Then he was a dumbass. Just like Jon who locked up Ghost because he snarled at men plotting his murder. And it is a travesty that we didn't see Ghost in King's Landing or Dragonstone. Dire wolves are awesome.

I read the four chapters on the Red Wedding - two Catelyn, two Arya. In the first chapter, Grey Wind snarls at the Freys many times. There is one sequence that struck me as quite odd. Grey Wind is about to attack Black Walder, when Catelyn spurs her horse and cuts in front of the dire wolf. There is no way any horse, no matter how well trained, would block Grey Wind.

The Red Wedding is taken from the Black Dinner in 1440. James II was crowned King of Scotland at the age of 7. Clan Douglas had become so powerful that the king's advisors feared they would threaten his rule. So they had the 10 year old king invite the 16 year old Earl of Douglas and his younger brother to the royal castle. According to legend, the three boys were getting along until a servant brought out a black bull head's still dripping blood on a serving platter. Earl Douglas and his brother were then beheaded. GRRM cites the Black Dinner and the Glencoe Massacre (soldiers kill their hosts after two weeks) as his inspiration.

**A Death in the Family** refers to the Batman arc where Robin is killed by the Joker and a bomb. It was written in the 80s, highly controversial in its time, but key to understanding Batman's world. To recap, Grey Wind is dead, Talisa is dead, Robb's child is dead, Catelyn Stark is dead, and Robb's consciousness warged into Grey Wind before death, so a lot of trauma.


	34. Prisoner's Dilemma

**Prisoner's Dilemma**

At the sight of the curtain wall, Gerry paddled toward the reeds. Last night, he traded ten silver stags for a coracle large enough for two. The fisherman had thrown in a hand net and three thick woolen blankets. The round shell-like boat was weaved from willow rods with an outer layer of bullock hide, waterproofed with pitch. It had been a long night, watching for Frey patrols, guiding the coracle down the Blue Fork, and keeping Robb Stark alive.

He had laid Robb down on the flat bottom and covered the lord with all three blankets. Getting in and out of the little boat was the hardest part. So long as the weight was evenly distributed, the coracle was surprisingly stable and could float even in a few inches of water, making it well suited for the rills and brooks before the headwaters turned into the mighty Trident.

He strapped the coracle to his back, and guiding Robb with his right arm, trudged up the hill to the ruins of Oldstone. The overgrown and rocky road wound twice around before reaching the summit. Beneath the castle, the woods were thick, and the bushes heavy with nuts and fruits. Gerry knew which berries to pluck, and how to pound the sedge tubers and nuts into a soup.

Gerry made camp on top of the hill, in the ruins of the old castle. He placed Robb against the stone sepulcher, half hidden in the high grass. He took an axe out, and chopped away several roots, and ripped up fern bushes to make an open piece of ground large enough to sleep on. He smoothed the earth and leaned the coracle at a slant against the tomb, blocking out the mid morning sun. After he placed a folded blanket down, Gerry moved Robb into the shadows cast by the round boat, and then draped the two other blankets over the Lord of Winterfell. He built a fire, and forced Robb to drink from the waterskin.

He could have gone further than Oldstones. The Blue Fork rushed southeast to Fairmarket, Ramsford and then met the Green Fork north of Lord Harroway's Town. Those were Tully lands, with riverlords loyal to the Starks. But nobles of those houses had been captured at the Twins, and Robb Stark was too tempting and valuable a target. A highborn might trade him to the Freys for their lord or heir, a lowborn could simply sell the Lord of Winterfell for hundreds of gold dragons. Gerry would not risk it. He would simply wait.

The boy knew the maester would come north. Gerry had been at the Golden Tooth, the Red Fork and the God's Eye. He had seen Snow's uncanny connection with his dire wolf. The maester would find Ghost again. And with fifty miles between here and Sevenstreams, Ghost would find Robb. The dire wolf could cover that distance in a few hours.

There was a great deal to do before the day ended. Chop wood for the fire. Carry water up the hill. Forage for nuts and berries. Catch trout with the net. And most importantly, build a better shelter. The walls offered some protection from wind, but with branches, leaves and mud, Gerry could shield them from rain and cold. He was still working when he heard the wolves.

Gerry scrambled up the hill, and fed more wood into the fire. He grabbed a burning branch. , and as the sun set, waited near the crude wooden lean-to. He heard twigs crack, a heavy panting, and growls. A dozen wolves surrounded him, gnashing their teeth as they circled him. Gerry stepped back carefully, keeping his back to the shelter. A giant grey wolf with a white underbelly approached, and the smaller animals went quiet. Nymeria stared at him with hostile dark golden eyes. Gerry stepped aside, holding the torch high to light the way. The great she-wolf trotted forward and nuzzled Robb, as if willing him to wake.

Gerry tended the fire, and roasted rainbow trout on sticks. Soon after, he heard heavier footsteps and the whinny of horses. The small wolves slinked off, and a white dire wolf appeared, leading men on horses. There was nothing to fear. The man in front wore a white surcoat, encrusted with dried blood.

"Ser Mychel. Good to see you. Care for roast trout?"

The knight gave a tired smile as he sat down. "Gerry, I am glad to see you. This is Ser Robar Royce. Ser Andrew Tollett. Ser Ben Coldwater. The fighting went the whole night and into the morning. The wolves led us a merry chase down the Blue Fork this afternoon."

"How is Lord Robb?" Ser Robar asked anxiously.

Ghost and Nymeria had settled near the Young Wolf. "I have kept him warm and comfortable. He has not woken, but he is no worse than last night." The words gave the knights little comfort.

"My father says the Starks are hard to kill." Ser Robar said hesitantly.

"He is not dead though. Although I suppose if he never wakes, he can't give us any commands. Pity - I want to kill more Freys." Tollett said.

"How was the fighting, Sers?" Gerry asked.

Mychel shook his head somberly. "Half the Valemen who went to Sevenstreams are dead. Ser Roland Waynwood. Ser Elbert Bellmore. Ser Lymon Lynderly. The North fared even worse."

"The Freys planned a clever ambush. We are lucky the dire wolves killed the archers and crossbowmen. Otherwise, we would have all died." Robar said.

"A few men escaped - Smalljon Umber, the Karstark sons. But the Greatjon was captured, Lord Karstark, Patrek Mallister, and many others. And Lothar Frey boasted that Lady Stark was killed and Edmure Tully taken prisoner at the Twins." Mychel said.

"They served us meat and drink, after the victory at Seagard. The gods will curse House Frey for breaking guest right." Robar said.

Gerry found extra twigs and shared the skewers of hot trout. The knights finished quickly and took the horses down to the river to graze and drink. Gerry offered the roast fish to the wolves but Ghost shook his head, and Nymeria had already fallen asleep.

"Where do you think we should head? Raventree Hall is half a day's ride south. Or we can hail a skiff or a barge and head to Fairmarket to send word to the Blackfish. By now, all of the Riverlands will know of House Frey's betrayal." Mychel said.

"If the Freys offer to trade Edmure for Lord Stark, what would the Blackfish do?" Gerry replied.

"Ser Brynden is a good man." Robar protested.

"But he is a Tully. Family is before duty and honor in their words. And Edmure is his liege lord."

"The Blackfish hates the Freys." Mychel said. "But his first loyalty would be to his house. Lord Tytos has fought bravely as well but two of his sons went to the Twins, and are likely prisoners. Can we send a raven to Snow?"

"We have no ravens here. And I do not know where the maester is. But have no doubt, Sers. Jon Snow will come for us. And he will come for House Frey."

* * *

He woke at dawn when the clouds turned bronze and gold over the God's Eye. The five cracked and lumped towers of Black Harren's Folly jutted into the sky, but it was still too dark to see Harrentown, the town dwarfed by the great castle. Jon dreamt of Winterfell last night, the courtyard in the shadow of the First Keep, where he and Robb had trained together ever since they were big enough to walk. There, they had laughed and played away from any prying eyes - pretending not to be little boys but great heroes - Aemon the Dragonknight or Cregan Stark. But he had been sent away to the Citadel, while Robb remained to guard the North.

In the dream, his brother was a King of Winter, wearing an open circlet of beaten bronze with nine black iron spikes shaped as swords. But a storm of arrows and quarrels fell, and daggers rose and struck in the dark. In the fighting, Jon was too far away to reach his brother. The darkness took Robb past the broken tower, past the lichyard, and into the ironwood door of the crypts. Jon searched and searched in the dark, under the stern faces of stone Stark kings on stone thrones. He did not care about voices that muttered he was no Stark, but he could not find Robb. The light burnt out, and the tomb faded into black, leaving only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, golden eyes shining sadly. He knew those eyes.

"Bring me home. Bring me home." the wolf whispered.

Grey Wind deserved to rest in the crypts of Winterfell with the other dire wolves that had served the Kings of Winter. And then Jon woke up.

Jon found Arya on the bow of the Wolf Wind. His sister turned, a trace of tears in her bloodshot eyes. Jon held her tightly, and her sobs were muffled in his chest.

"What did you see in your dream?"

"I saw crossbow bolts at a feast. I saw a dire wolf die. What does it mean, Jon?"

He wanted badly to soothe her fears but he would not lie to Arya. "Nothing good. Be strong, little sister. We will deal with whatever comes."

* * *

The banner of the white wolf fluttered as they rode to Harrenhal. At the main gate, so wide that fifty men could march abreast, an old lady met them. A few servants attended her - Maester Tothmure, Lucan the Armorer, and a few tired knights. The anxious look that Shella Whent gave them spoke volumes. Lady Whent's eyes widened when she saw Sansa Stark.

"Lady Sansa! You are freed from King's Landing."

Sansa curtsied. "I am, my lady. Thank you for your hospitality."

Jon swung off his horse, and interrupted the greetings. He could see the fear - the blacksmith's burly arms trembled, Ser Waylan Wode stared down on the ground, and the maester's fingers quivered. No one - least of all, Shella Whent - could look him in the eyes. "Bad news does not improve in the waiting. Tell me what you already know."

"Lord Snow. Your brother was betrayed by the Freys." Lady Whent said.

Jon ignored the gasps of surprise. He kept his voice flat and emotionless. "How do you know?"

"A raven from Seagard. It came yesterday, my lord." The maester said.

"What else do you know?" Jon said.

"We sent a raven to Riverrun. They confirmed that Lord Edmure was taken prisoner at his own wedding in the Twins. Your mother, Lady Stark, was likely killed." Tothmure said.

Not my mother, Jon knew, but Catelyn Tully married Ned Stark and bore him five children. His siblings had lost both father and mother. He wondered if he had also lost a brother. He could feel his sisters' pain like a knife in the heart. "Take us to the solar. And bring me both letters." Jon walked past Lady Whent, and Arya and Sansa followed.

* * *

Wind blew through open cracks, and the slagged stone warped the stairs and walls of Kingspyre Tower. Here, Balerion the Black Dread unleashed his true fury against Black Harren - a cruel fate for a cruel king. Brienne and Sandor stood guard outside while Jon read the first letter.

_"Lord Stark defeated Euron Greyjoy in Ironman's Bay and Lothar Frey claimed that Lord Walder wished to share the remains of Edmure's wedding banquet with the North at Sevenstreams. At the feast, Freys attacked with axes and crossbows. Robb Stark was wounded, and is missing. Many others were captured or dead. Very few men returned to Seagard."_

"What about Mother?' Arya asked.

"That is the other raven. The Freys ordered Riverrun to bend the knee. They took Lord Edmure prisoner, and killed Lady Catelyn when she tried to escape. The Blackfish believes that the Freys took many hostages at the wedding."

Sansa broke down sobbing. "It is all my fault. Don't you see? Joffrey ordered this as revenge for my escape from King's Landing. I am the reason that Mother is dead."

Jon shook his head. "After the God's Eye, the Freys wanted a marriage with Robb. When that failed, they agreed to a betrothal with Edmure. Either way, a wedding would occur at the Twins. Your rescue was only a faint glimmer, and unknown to Freys or Lannisters. We cannot say when the final orders were given, but the Freys planned this treachery for a long time. Roose Bolton said others would betray the North. He may have known about Lord Walder."

"If that was the case, why didn't the Freys betray us at the God's Eye?" Arya said.

"They did, or at least fifteen hundred Freys left. Some Freys did serve loyally in the battle. Ser Stevron, Perwyn, Olyvar - and a few of the bastards - Martyn fought well. The Freys may be more cowardly about battle in the open field, or perhaps Lord Walder informed Ryman and Lothar of his treachery but not the others. Or Tywin had already promised Roose Bolton a reward but had yet to satisfy the Frey's price."

"But if I never went South, if I had never wanted to be Queen, this would have not happened. We would all be still in Winterfell. Father would have not been imprisoned and beheaded."

"Sansa, the water has run downstream. We cannot force it back up. You did not order Ned Stark to become Hand of the King. You did not take Tyrion Lannister prisoner. You did not plan Edmure's wedding or the Frey feast. This is not a time to wail or weep. This is a time for judgment. We need to determine our next steps."

Sansa stopped her tears. "Do you think Robb is dead?"

"I do not know. I saw Grey Wind die in a wolf dream. But Robb might have escaped."

"We should kill all the Freys." Arya blurted out.

"We have no time for anger. We need to find Robb first. We need to know who lived, who died, and who was taken prisoner. Our first duty is to the North and our men. We leave in a few hours for Harroway. There is a lot to do - ravens, prisoners, and gathering our remaining forces."

"What happens if Robb is dead?" Arya asked.

"Then I am Lord of Winterfell. And the Twins will burn."

* * *

"You have cursed us all. There is no crime so foul as murder at a wedding. And to invite your allies to a feast after a battle, and slay them while they are drunk. The Gods will not forget these crimes." The old woman thundered.

The Tyrells had come out in force to the Small Council. Lady Olenna, the true power behind Highgarden, revealed her thorns, accusing Tywin Lannister of the treachery in the Riverlands. Ravens had flown fast and furious into King's Landing that morning. The Frey wedding had been a gross violation of guest right. But the Traitor's Feast was seen as the greater dishonor. At the Twins, Lord Walder had taken many highborn prisoners. But at Sevenstreams, the Frey hosts butchered the Northern army.

"The Iron Throne had nothing to do with this. This is a dispute between Walder Frey and his liege lord." Tywin replied. That bald lie did not fool anyone.

"Would Walder Frey have done this without your blessing?" Olenna Tyrell replied.

The Queen of Thorns was famous for her sharp tongue. Nor was she wrong, Tyrion thought. Walder Frey was not a brave man. He would have required guarantees from the Iron Throne. And Walder was greedy. What promises had his father made?

"Will the Iron Throne strip House Frey of their lands? How will you punish them for breaking guest right?" Oberyn smiled at Lord Tywin's discomfort.

"Why does this matter? We should be glad that our enemies kill each other." Baelish said.

The Tyrells and their retainers glared at Littlefinger. "He has prisoners, Baelish - from every house in the Reach. Are you too stupid to realize that their lives are at risk?"

Olenna did not need to clarify who he was. Tyrion knew from experience how unpleasant Jon Snow's personal attention could be. And Podrick had seen an entire company of Bloody Mummers crucified at Harrenhal. "What of Robb Stark? Do we know if he is alive or not?"

"There are conflicting reports. The Freys paraded around a body with a dire wolf head and nailed a crown on top. But there are others who say that the Young Wolf was badly injured but escaped when his dire wolf was killed." Tywin said.

"One dire wolf head? But the North had three at the Red Fork. And the White Wolf is alive. Varys said that if Robb Stark died, Snow was heir to Winterfell." Tyrion shuddered.

"What about our lords? We paid gold to ensure their safety. They are still prisoners. The wolves released our soldiers and knights but kept the high lords." Ser Garlan said.

"The Freys have taken prisoners as well - Edmure Tully, and many others from the North and the Riverlands. Lord Karstark, Lord Umber, a Mormont girl, the Mallister heir, Wylis Manderly. The North has lost thousands of men. House Stark has been crippled. The Rivermen will have to bend the knee to the Freys."

"What if Robb Stark and Jon Snow rally their forces and attack House Frey?" Jaime asked.

Tywin gave a scornful shrug. "How? Who will fight for the Starks - the Blackfish? The Karstarks? Walder Frey only needs to threaten to hang their lords."

"The Young Wolves can defeat the Freys in the field. They have been outnumbered before and still won." Garlan said.

"Walder Frey is no fool. He will not seek out battle. He will squat at the Twins, and keep his captives close. Even an army of twenty thousand would need months to besiege the Twins. And Snow has neither the men nor the time. His brother is wounded. He may be the heir but a bastard will have trouble controlling the North. He may have to trade his prisoners to free the Northern lords. And if his brother dies, he will need to secure his rule." Tywin said.

So that was his father's plan. Tywin Lannister would trade Northern hostages for his men. And if Snow beheaded a few Tyrell bannermen, all the better. The Freys would weaken the Reach, the Riverlands and the North simultaneously. The cost was honor and reputation, but when had his Lord Father ever cared about that? The Lannisters would slough off as much blame as possible to Walder Frey. It was clever, except - "How many prisoners do the Freys have?"

"Eight Northmen. A dozen heirs of the Riverlords and Edmure Tully." Tywin replied.

"Jon Snow doesn't give a shit about House Tully. He is not his brother." the Red Viper said.

"Snow has fifty squires alone at the Golden Tooth, and hundreds of knights at Riverrun. He captured more at the Red Fork, including many of our most powerful lords. And he has important hostages from almost every house in the Reach. The Freys do not have enough prisoners to trade." Tyrion said.

"The Freys took Lord Umber and Lord Karstark prisoner. Those two houses are the strongest bannermen for the Starks. Snow will need their support to rule the North." Tywin said.

"Will he? Smalljon Umber and the Karstark sons served in Robb Stark's battle guard. They may already be loyal to House Stark." Tyrion said.

"What if Snow doesn't care about Winterfell? What if he only wants revenge?" Jaime said.

"Then you should expect your lords to lose their heads." Oberyn Martell smirked.

The words hung over the Small Council meeting like a black cloud. His father had hatched a clever scheme. But like all conspiracies, it relied on his accomplices. Lord Tywin did not bother to sully his own hands. When Tyrion was young, the septon at Casterly Rock declared "they that lie with dogs, shall rise with fleas." But the Freys were worse than dogs. They were rats - greedy, treacherous and disloyal. It was good that Lord Walder hid in his twin castles. Rats did not fare well against wolves in the wild.

* * *

Owen Fossoway waited until Ser William Wythers waved him through the cordon of Tyrell guards. Since the debacle of the Wildfire Wedding, Lady Olenna spent a great deal of time away from the Maidenvault, holding court at the godswood, overlooking the Blackwater Rush. The reason was simple - among the elm, alder and cottonwood trees, there was no place for secret tunnels or spies. The two score guards in green flushed out any listeners.

"Had we been here that night, we might have seen Snow sail away on the river, after burning the Mountain alive!" A young Tyrell cousin exclaimed.

"The harbor is two miles away." Olenna said. "You would have seen a green dot in the distance. And why would anyone want to see a man burn to death?"

"The Mountain was more a monster than a man." Ser Garlan said.

He coughed loudly, and bowed to the noble ladies. The Queen of Thorns waved away Margaery's companions, leaving only the three Tyrells in front of the great oak heart tree, covered with smokeberry vines and dark red flowers.

"Ah, young Owen. You have heard the dreadful news? Of the weasels and how they conspired with the lions?" Olenna said.

"Bits and pieces, my lady. I was at the Great Sept of Baelor today. The High Sparrow declared the Freys apostates and that anyone who aided them would be banished from worship of the Seven. The Faith are furious about the violation of guest right and the massacre at the feast." Owen said.

The Queen of Thorns shrugged. "The septons enjoy ranting and raving but when has the Faith done anything meaningful? Not since the Dance of the Dragons led to their deaths."

"Ser - what do you think Snow will do?" Lady Margaery asked. "Will he seek revenge?"

"For the betrayal at the feast? Most certainly. You heard Robb Stark's oath at Redgrass Field. Jon Snow is his heir. What heir will not avenge his brother?"

"But will he kill his prisoners? Execute our lords?" Margaery asked.

Owen scratched his head. "Why would he do that? They had nothing to do with the Black Wedding or the Traitor's Feast."

"But the Lannisters did. Walder Frey would not commit these crimes without the protection of the Iron Throne. And the Reach is in league with the lions." Garlan said.

"Perhaps you should question that alliance first. I do not know. Maester Snow is not the most predictable of men." Owen rubbed the large bruise on the back of his neck. "But Jon is not hateful. He is not cruel. We paid ransom for the squires, men at arms and knights. The lords were kept to assure our good behavior. We have done nothing wrong."

"But does Snow know that? He made many terrible threats after the God's Eye. What if he believes the Reach supported this betrayal?" Olenna said.

"I doubt he is putting the blame on Mace Tyrell."

"Perhaps, you could write your friend a letter - so he will know that for certain." Margaery said.

Owen could do more than write a letter. He could invoke the personal favor but it would be a great mistake to let the Tyrells know about that arrangement. And he doubted that Jon would murder the fathers and uncles of his friends at the Citadel. "How could my raven reach him? I do not know where he is."

"We do. Our spies saw the _Wolf Wind_ sailing to the north shore of the God's Eye. He must be headed to Harrenhal." Garlan said.

Owen shook his head no. "Where is Robb Stark?"

"No one knows, Ser. It is a great mystery." Margaery said.

"Find Robb and you will find Jon. He will not stay at Harrenhal long. He will be on the move. If Robb is dead, I wonder what he will do. But I do not think he will kill our men. I believe in Jon Snow. The North may be hard and cold but he was raised with honor."

* * *

Fresh straw had been added to the thatched roof in the stable and a newly painted sign - three roads meeting at a river - hung over the door. The Crossroads Inn was packed with travellers - merchants, craftsmen, and septons but the Heddles offered any rooms and garrets that House Stark required. That wasn't much - the soldiers camped outside, and the Northmen would sail as soon as Captain Manderly found suitable ships.

Young Willow Heddle made certain that the highborn were served ample food and drink, even the ones in chains. And there were many of those - over three dozen captive Reachman trying to make small talk with her sister, the ever gracious Lady Whent, River knights, and little Lyman Darry with his maester and steward. Arya accepted a bowl of steaming beef stew, warm bread, and a crumbled cherry pie. Hot Pie's food was delicious.

"Lady Sansa, I hope your brother will not blame House Darry for these attacks." Lyman said.

"Why would he, my Lord?" a puzzled Sansa said.

"Walder Frey married two of his sons to Raymun Darry's sisters. Lord Lyman has seven Frey cousins." The maester said.

"Don't be frightened, Lyman. The Freys have marriages with almost every house in the Riverlands. Lord Frey took my cousin Sarya as his fifth wife and my niece Wynafrei is married to one of his sons by a Crakehall. I have a Frey good nephew." Shella Whent said.

"Did your nephew or Lyman's cousins take part in the attack on Robb?" Arya demanded.

"I do not know." Little Lyman squeaked.

"If they did, I doubt Jon will show any mercy." She snapped to the embarrassed Rivermen. Arya stomped off before her sister could make any apologies.

Outside the inn, soldiers sparred, checked their armor, and prepared for battles to come. Riders had been sent out from Harrenhal, ordering all Northmen that remained south of the Trident to Harroway. Arya saw Glover men, Karstarks, and Flint men. Ser Alyn, knighted after being wounded at the God's Eye, now served as the new captain of the Stark guards, and took charge mustering the Northern troops. The Lightning Lord did the same for the Rivermen.

Several hundred men had reported to Harroway, and dozens more were coming every hour from Saltpans, and the lands around the God's eye. There were more soldiers further South and West patrolling the gold road and Stony Sept, but it would take days, perhaps weeks to march to the Trident. They didn't have days. The Freys had sent ravens to many castles, boasting of their prisoners and demanding that the Riverlords bend the knee.

In response, Jon had sent his own ravens but not to the Twins. Birds had flown to Riverrun, the Golden Tooth, Raventree Hall, Pinkmaiden, Atranta, Wayfarer's Rest and Stone Hedge. Jon wanted the prisoners held at those castles to be moved north. Lady Mormont would follow orders but Arya was not certain if the other lords would comply. After all, their sons were being held along with Edmure Tully.

Two men grunted, as they carried a heavy iron anvil by the horns. Arya rolled her eyes. Gendry was bull headed enough not to use a wheelbarrow but the older man should have known better. She recognized Lucan, the burly armorer from Harrenhal. Chett rushed over with a flat cart on wooden wheels. The two men dropped the anvil on the dolly, and then bent over gasping to catch their breath.

"Gendry, what are you doing?" Arya asked.

Lucan answered. "Lady Whent asked us to bring an anvil on the boat. She hopes to stay in your brother's favor."

"But why? We have taken the castle for her already." Arya said.

"Lady Whent cannot hold Harrenhal. She does not have enough men." Jon said, before giving instructions on where to place the tools. Chett took Lucan and Gendry away.

"So that's why she came with us North?" Arya said.

"She will come with us on the Trident. Lord Lyman should as well. Robb left half the army to recover from injuries, guard prisoners, and protect the Riverlands. We don't have the manpower to do that. Men died at Seagard and even more at Sevenstreams. All our men will head North."

"But if we retreat, the Lannisters will take back these lands." Arya said.

"Lady Whent is welcome at Winterfell. Here she has less than twenty five men, and many too old to fight. All her servants could fit in a single hall of a single tower of Harrenhal. She will lose her castle but keep her life. So will Lord Lyman. If he dies, who would inherit Darry?"

"One of his Frey cousins. I hate the Freys. Do you think that was part of the bargain? That the Lannisters promised the Freys lands and titles?"

"I am sure of it. Tywin Lannister must have been plotting after the Red Fork. He could not defeat Robb in the field so he paid a toll to the Freys. It must have been high - castles, marriages, titles, lands. Lord Walder has 30 children, not including the bastards. And those children have begotten other children who hope to profit off this treachery. That will not happen. Traitors are more dangerous than enemies, and belong in the darkest, deepest circle of Hell."

* * *

The Lannisters set a delicious table with succulent meats, saffron rice with fresh vegetables, ripe fruit from the Reach, and the finest wines from the Arbor, Dorne and Lys. The company though was less tolerable. At least, Tyrion sat next to Jaime and far away from his monstrous nephew. Joffrey sat between Cersei and Tywin, who had once again claimed the title of Hand. That meant his Lord Father had the task of educating the brat in how to rule.

"Will the Freys send me Robb Stark's body?" Joffrey asked eagerly.

"I doubt Robb Stark is dead. If the Freys had killed him, they would have more than a dead wolf pelt. But Lord Walder claims hostages from the great houses in the North and the Riverlands." Tywin said.

'Then have him send the hostages to King's Landing so I can put their heads on spikes."

"Sweetling, they must be kept alive so their house bends the knee." Cersei said.

"They will bend the knee anyway. Otherwise I will destroy their family and take their lands. No one can deny the king." Joffrey crowed.

"Yes, that worked so well with the Starks." Tyrion said.

"I will kill Robb Stark. Tell the Freys to catch him alive. I will chop his head off and serve it to you for dinner." Joffrey sneered.

"Thank you, your grace but I prefer this leg of lamb or a rack of venison." Tyrion said. Even Lord Tywin cracked a faint smile at the jibe.

"Are there new candidates for the Kingsguard?" Cersei said, in an obvious attempt to stop Joffrey from spoiling yet another meal.

"There are few knights worthy of the white cloak in King's Landing. I will not have another Meryn Trant or Boros Blount. And we have another problem. Many septons blame the Iron Throne for the attack on Robb Stark and Edmure Tully's wedding. And plenty of knights agree with the septons. Men with honor claim the Kingsguard has none." Jaime said.

"Bah, they will forget their precious honor. In a few moons, no one in King's Landing will care about the Starks." Tywin said.

"What about a Kettleblack? Osmund has two brothers - Osfryd and Osney." Cersei said.

"And what value are hedge knights with no name to the Iron Throne?" Tywin asked acidly. "If I wished to sully the kingsguard, I would have appointed a Frey."

Jaime banged his goblet hard on the table. Tyrion knew that under the proud sardonic facade, his brother cared a great deal about honor and had found none in the white cloak. "I will not have a Frey as a brother-in-arms. I will kill him in a spar before the ceremony. The Freys are treacherous deceitful cowards. They don't even have the guts to betray a man without breaking the sacred laws of guest right."

Lord Tywin pursed his lips. "Explain why it is more noble to kill ten thousand men in battle than a dozen at dinner. The price of peace was cheap by any measure."

"Except it wasn't a few men, Father. Only a dozen captives were taken at Edmure Tully's wedding - so the guards and other guests, including Catelyn Stark, died. And at Sevenstreams, there were thousands of soldiers. How many were butchered while they were drinking with a Frey as a guest beneath their roof? This was a massacre, not a murder." Tyrion said.

"It was not their roof. It was three tents thrown up in some godforsaken village." Tywin replied.

"A village in Frey lands. A feast where meat and drink was served. This stain will not wash out. What was the price? How much was Walder's toll for blackening his name?" Tyrion said.

"The crown shall grant Riverrun to Ser Emmon Frey once the castle falls. Walder Frey will be Lord Paramount of the Trident, and the Freys will be liege lord of the Riverlands. Lancel and Daven will have to marry Frey girls, Joy is to wed one of Walder's natural sons when she comes of age, and the Freys have asked for Arya Stark as a bride for Elmar Frey." Tywin said.

"I thought Baelish was Lord Paramount of the Trident." Cersei said.

"He was stripped of the title after the loss of Sansa Stark." Tywin said.

Tyrion chuckled. He smirked as his father eyed him with great distaste. "Lord Walder is as likely to rule the Trident as Moon Boy is. The Freys will not hold the Riverlands. They are hated by everyone, small folk, highborn, septons, and the wolves. The wolves are not dead."

"The Freys have prisoners that will ensure the good behavior of their bannermen. And captives from the North." Tywin said.

"So in their strongholds, guarded by a garrison, they might be safe. The Riverlords still believe in guest right. But when they venture outside, Walder Frey's sons and grandsons will be killed - like the rats they are." Tyrion predicted.

Tywin shrugged. "Lord Frey has many, many sons. Who cares if a few die?

The strong Arbor Gold loosened Tyrion's tongue. "He will need all of them. It will be much more than a few."

* * *

He sat down on a tied bundle of kindling and canvas as the ship went around the bend. The captain apologized profusely but Jon saw no reason why supplies should not be delivered along the Blue Fork, to the little villages in this burned over stretch. After the destruction wreaked by the Lannisters, these forgotten settlements - Donnelwood, Fieldstone and Lambswold - were slowly beginning to gain life. The riverboat carried wood, hemp and stone - materials that would help the smallfolk rebuild.

A bell rang out at a ravaged wooden sept on top of a hill. The leaded glass windows had been stolen, the carvings of the Seven on the wide doors defaced, and the vegetable garden turned into an empty patch of dirt. Cowled apostles in dun and brown robes tended half a dozen cows and a flock of sheep. Men walked by the riverside, some carrying bows, others scavenged armor and crude weapons. They hailed the ship, and cheered boisterously at the sight of Thoros the Red Priest and the Lightning Lord.

"Who are those idiots?" Sandor Clegane said.

"The Brotherhood without Banners, sworn to protect those in need..." Thoros said.

"Brothers without Banners? More like bandits without masters. I have never seen a sorrier bunch of outlaws." The Hound sneered.

"We are knights of the hollow hill - pledged to the Seven Kingdoms."

"Are you all knights?" Sansa asked Thoros.

"Any knight can make a knight. I have laid my sword on many shoulders. Those who would defend the realms can join our fellowship." Beric said.

"Don't listen to this one. Dying has addled his brains. This bunch would sell you to the queen for some silver, and then sob into their cups when you are tortured and raped. Just like any knight that serves the Iron Throne."

"At least we didn't burn the Riverlands." one of the Dondarrion's men muttered.

"I didn't either, you dumb cunt. I was in King's Landing during the war, while you were hiding in your hollow hill. I don't pretend to protect the weak, and fail like you."

"Clegane. Brienne." The raven descended onto Jon's shoulder. "We will be at Fairmarket soon. There is a large party of warriors waiting for us."

"Are they friends or foes?" Sansa asked.

"They are not Freys. But who knows who we can trust? Secure the prisoners and ready your weapons." Jon said.

* * *

The sailors tied the boat to the remaining post of the wooden bridge, washed away by the surging Blue Fork. Fairmarket was a village with a modest tower house. Men wearing sigils of ravens on scarlet surrounding a dead white weirwood tree stood at the west shore, and their leader, in bright yellow armor and a splendid raven feathered cloak, approached. Jon nodded and Lord Blackwood was allowed on the ship.

"Lord Snow, I received your letter. Here are your prisoners - Brax, Banefort and Estren knights."

"My thanks, Lord Tytos. What news do you have from the Twins or Seagard?" Jon said.

"Two of my sons went to the Tully wedding. Lucas was murdered, trying to defend Lady Stark. And Ben, Edmure's squire, was captured. Kinship counts for no more than guest right at the Twins. Lame Lothar was the eldest son of Alyssa Blackwood, Walder Frey's fourth wife, and yet he conspired to kill one of my sons and capture another."

"You are certain Lothar planned these crimes?"

"He wrote to me and demanded that my Bethany be betrothed to one of Lord Walder's grandsons, else they would return Ben in pieces. Ben is only twelve and Beth is a sweet girl of eight. She is her mother's favorite and brings joy to my home."

"What will you do, Lord Tytos? Why do you have two dozen knights with you?" Jon asked.

"I am not the only Riverman riding North, my Lord. We are all greatly wroth. Lord Piper, the Rygers, Lord Norbert Vance. We lost more than our sons. The knights who went to the Twins were nephews, and cousins. And now, their bodies float down the Green Fork."

"But what will you do? Will you fight the Freys? They hold your son, and your liege lord."

"If my son were freed, I would be happy to lead my swords and spears against the Freys. We all would. But with our sons in the castle…" Lord Tytos' eyes revealed his desperation. "We have heard the tale of the wildfire wedding. You freed your sister from the clutches of the Imp. Can you do the same at the Twins?"

"It is not possible." A hard fierce voice carried over the water. His two sons, Dickon and Samwell, cringed as many eyes on the ship turned to them. "No one can do that."

The other Reachmen groaned. "Lord Tarly spoke out of turn." Baelor Hightower said. "He does not mean to intrude upon your grief."

Jon met the stare of the proud marcher lord. A loss of a hand had not humbled Randyll Tarly. "No, let him continue. Why is it impossible?"

"I know castles, bastard. I have studied their strengths and weaknesses. When I was a knight, I travelled around Westeros to see fortresses. Storm's End. The Eyrie. Casterly Rock. You cannot take the Twins easily." Randyll said.

"The Twins are no great castle." Tytos retorted.

"Each castle is normal - a castle wall, an outer bailey, a barbican and portcullis. But what makes it strong is that there are two castles. An attack on one will alert the other. And unless Walder Frey is an utter dolt, he will divide the prisoners between both castles. He can use the stone bridge to bring supplies and men to any point, or even spirit captives away. And that bridge is protected by a high tower in the middle that controls the river." Tarly said.

Lord Tytos sagged, hope fading from his narrow lean face. "The Twins would be difficult to besiege, but perhaps you can sneak men inside."

"Walder Frey is a coward, a cheat, an oathbreaker and a traitor but not a fool. He will not allow strangers or unknown merchants or minstrels into the Twins. His sons and grandsons are cravens, sots and whoremongers but they can guard a castle wall. There are certainly enough of them to do that." Tarly said.

"Lord Tytos, I am sure my brother can find a way. He did so at King's Landing." Sansa said.

"I do not doubt Snow's cunning. I saw his tricks at the God's Eye. But Walder Frey is a different creature. He will take no risks. He will squat at the Twins like a toad. If he sees your banners, Lord Tytos, he will hang your son."

Tarly's blunt comments were not well received. But better to accept the truth than live in dreams. Jon realized that despite the words of anger against Lord Walder, he could not depend on Tytos Blackwood for action.

* * *

They heard the howls as darkness fell over the Blue Fork. As the ruins of Oldstones came into sight, so did the eyes - amber and yellow eyes that glowed in the dark. There were dozens of pairs near the bottom of the hill, and more hidden behind the elm and oak trees.

"Wolves!" The fat Tarly boy squeaked in fear, to his father's disgust.

Sandor Clegane chuckled. "If we were going to feed you to wolves, we would have done it at Harrenhal. And not fed you on the trip."

"Jon, I can sense Nymeria." Arya said.

He nodded. He felt the presence of Ghost nearby, and the comfort of his bond with the great white wolf. "Dock the ship. We will go ashore."

"Shouldn't we wait until morning?" Alyn said aghast. "We cannot defend you in the dark."

"We do not need protection from our wolves."

* * *

Nymeria met them at the end of the stony road. The dire wolf stared at the guards but led Jon and his sisters into the ruins. They found Robb in the castle yard with Ghost, resting next to the crypt of the ancient river king. His breathing was steady and deep but the Lord of Winterfell did not wake from his slumber, even at Sansa and Arya's touch.

The Vale knights stood quietly to the side, where the small fire cast shadows on crumbled stone. Ser Alyn, Brienne and the Hound waited as well with the other Stark men. Jon motioned for Gerion to approach, and the boy brought Ser Mychel with him.

"How was Robb hurt?" Jon asked.

"Maester, the Freys disguised crossbowmen as musicians at the feast. After they served Lord Robb a dish of a dead wolf, they attacked. I tried to get him to flee the tent. But they shot Talisa in the back, the side and the belly. Grey Wind died killing the crossbowmen." Gerry said.

"Lord Stark collapsed when his wolf died. We dragged his body out of the tent." Mychel added.

"Talisa is dead?" Jon said somberly. He bowed his head when Gerry nodded.

"Who is Talisa?" Sansa asked.

"Talisa Maegyr. A healer. A noble woman from Volantis that Robb met in the Reach. She was a good woman, and Robb's beloved." Jon answered.

"My lord, there was something else. Talisa carried Robb's child. She expected a babe in six moons." Gerry said to the shock of Jon's sisters.

"And Robb knew?" Jon asked. Gerry nodded again. "So Robb knew that his unborn child had died. No wonder…."

Ser Mychel put a knee on the ground. "Lord Snow, I was not aware of the babe. I tried to cover their escape but my shield was only large enough to protect Lord Robb from the quarrels. I should have guarded Lady Talisa with my life."

"Rise, Ser. You did what you could. I suspect there were many archers and crossbowmen."

"They killed our nephew or niece." Arya raged. "The Freys murdered Robb's wife and child while pretending to be our allies."

"They were not married but they would have been. Robb told me he wanted to wed under the heart tree in Winterfell." Jon added.

"They killed many others, Maester. And they captured many Northmen as well."

"I will hear the names later, Gerry. Now, I would speak with my sisters." Jon said.

After Ser Mychel and Gerry left, Jon examined his brother's face and milky white eyes. He touched a finger to the neck and measured the pulse on the wrist. He sighed and stroked Ghost's fur. The dire wolves curled at the feet of the three Starks and Snow, and howled softly - a cold and lonely sound - a song of grief for their packmate. They missed Grey Wind, Jon realized - their fallen brother.

"What does this mean? The wound on his shoulder is not deep. Why is Robb not waking up?" Sansa said.

"Sansa, you must not tell anyone this. Not even your friend Jeyne. We have a bond with our dire wolves. I can slip into Ghost's skin and see through his eyes."

"You are a warg. I heard stories in King's Landing that you summoned wolves and ravens against the Lannisters. They are true then!" Sansa said.

Jon gave a thin smile. "A kernel of truth, perhaps. Ravens are carrion birds. They were already at the Red Fork, and Nymeria led the pack of wolves. I can warg into Ghost. Arya has dreams of Nymeria. I believe this is what happened. Robb was unarmed at the feast. He warged into Grey Wind to fight the Freys. And he was still in Grey Wind when the dire wolf died. Robb would give up his life to save Talisa and his child. And in a way, he did."

"But what happens now, Jon? Is he lost to us?" Arya said.

"I don't know. There are legends of skinchangers from many thousand years ago. They say a Stark of Winterfell killed the Warg King at Sea Dragon Point and took his daughters as a prize. There is warg blood in all of the Starks, even Bran and Rickon. Truly, it may be easier for our younger brothers. But for Robb, he must have suffered greatly when the bond was broken by Grey Wind's death. It may take a long time for that to heal, and for him to return." Jon said.

"But he will return?" Sansa asked.

"I think he will but there are no stories of wargs south of the Wall. They say that Bloodraven was a sorcerer and a bastard who could summon wolves and speak to crows. But then, they say the same about me." Jon said.

"What will we do now?" Sansa said.

"What do you mean? We should be killing any Freys we can find. They broke guest right. They murdered Mother. They hurt Robb. They killed his child. They captured our lords." Arya said.

"And the last is the problem. You heard Lord Tytos at Fairmarket. He might hate the Freys but he won't attack the Twins. Not while they threaten to kill his son. How many other houses will feel the same? The Freys have taken our lords as prisoners." Sansa said.

"What do you suggest?" Jon asked.

"We do not have the strength for a siege. Let us take Robb home to Winterfell so he can heal. We can rebuild the Northern forces over time." Sansa said.

Jon raised a hand to stop Arya's burst of anger. "What about our bannermen? The ones who died and the ones who were captured? What will we say if we run away from the Freys?"

"We have hundreds of prisoners, Jon. We can trade some for our lords. Walder Frey will be eager to return men like Kevan Lannister to the Iron Throne." Sansa said.

"We would be craven and we would be forced to live with this dishonor. Reward the Freys for their treachery? I would rather drink a barrel of piss." Arya said.

"Robb would be alive. We would be safe in the North. And when our armies are stronger, we can siege the Twins then. We will get revenge even if it takes many years." Sansa said

"Rewarding treachery only produces more traitors. And we owe a duty to our men, Stark men. We will not leave our honor or our men to the mercy of Walder Frey. Our bannermen pledged an oath to us, to shield our back and give their life for ours. We made an oath to them - a place by our hearth and meat and mead at our table. And I will keep that oath, no matter what the cost. Robb would have fought. Ned Stark would have fought. And so will I." Jon said.

"But Jon, if you attack the castle, the prisoners will die. We don't have many men. And our banners will not fight if their lords or sons are at risk." Sansa said.

"All that is true. But we are Starks. Starks don't give up. We fight. We fight for the North. We fight for our pack. We fight to protect our people. Our bannermen depend on us. If we don't fight, no one else will." Jon said.

* * *

The sky was gray and cloudy over the Twins, the gatehouse towers slick and wet from the rain. The waters swelled over their banks into a torrent, and the twin moats cut from the banks seemed only paltry puddles compared the mighty river. The Green Fork ran straight and swift under the arched bridge. At the center of the bridge, a stone Water Tower rose, the battlements higher than any gatehouses.

The Frey banner hung like a rude taunt over the castle walls - blue towers connected by a blue bridge on a silver grey field. On the western side of the Green Fork, there were thousands of men but the banners were limp, dripping wet outside tents and on sodden horses. Jon thought he could see the Karstark sun and the Mallister eagle but he might have been mistaken. Here at the Twins, the world was a dismal, colorless gray.

A cluster of highborn nobles had gathered before the gates of the castle. Jon pushed forward, the wolves at his side, the guards flanking them and protecting his sisters. A few startled Northmen Glovers, Flints and Reeds - gasped when they saw him - but he continued, guiding his horse to the disturbance. He passed Eddard Karstark, Smalljon Umber and a hobbling Wendel Manderly, his arm wrapped in bandages.

On the parapet next to the main castle, a dirty disheveled Edmure Tully in ragged clothes was being dragged forward by two cowled men. The lean one held a dagger to Tully's unshaven neck. The fat one carried a noose by both hands and pantomimed sticking the Lord of Riverrun head's through the loop made by the hangman's knot. But that was asinine. On top of a castle wall, there was no way to suspend the body. And a knife made the rope irrelevant.

"How often do they bring Edmure out?" Jon asked loudly.

The startled Riverlords turned just as his sisters arrived. "Lady Sansa, you are free. Praise the Seven, the tales are true - Snow rescued you from the Red Keep." The Blackfish said.

"We can speak of that later, Ser. Your nephew - why and when do they bring him out?"

"They trot Edmure out like a horse in the morning. They have done it each day for the last seven to demand that we bend the knee. Fucking Freys." The Blackfish said to many nods.

Jon squinted up at the wall. "Who are the two with him?"

"The fat one is Ryman Frey. Sometimes he has Black Walder hold the knife. Other times it is Edwyn. Those are Ryman's two older sons. They are treacherous scum, even worse than their father, and grandfather." Tytos said.

Jon doubted that. Their grandfather, Lord Walder, was the original stain. But it was a waste of time to compare shit to other shit. "Just Edmure? Do they bring out anyone else - the other heirs and captives?"

"No, my Lord. I have been at the Twins for the past week. I have not seen anyone else, and definitely not my heir Patrek." Jason Mallister.

"Odd." Jon said. The two Freys, realizing they had lost their audience, dragged Edmure back to the castle. The Tully Lord went meekly, and a flash of disapproval passed over Ser Brynden. Jon realized that the Blackfish wanted Edmure to kick and resist, but some men were born lords and not fighters. Ser Brynden had aged a great deal in the last moon.

"Lord Snow, what of Robb Stark? He saved Seagard from Euron Crow's Eye before the Frey feast." Jason Mallister asked.

"I found him. Our men took him to safety. Robb is alive, but not well. Until he recovers, I am Lord of Winterfell." The remaining commanders of the Northern army had joined the Riverlords. There were many missing. "Tell me - who was captured by the Freys and who was killed."

"We have those names, and we have brought our prisoners as you asked. But there is something else you must see. Perhaps you should send your sisters away." The Blackfish said, the pain clear in his hoarse voice.

"I want to stay, Jon." Arya exclaimed.

Jon clenched his hands tightly. Life was not a song. "I will not keep secrets from my trueborn siblings. What do you need to show us?"

Ser Brynden led them to a small tent with the shield of a silver trout hanging on the outside. Maester Vyman, an old tired man, opened the tent flaps, revealing two dozen corpses waiting for burial. In the center, a dead lady lay in a place of honor, covered by a white sheet up to her neck. Jon heard Nymeria's howl of anger, and gasps of shock from his sisters. The auburn haired woman had been beautiful once, but the pale flesh was wrinkled and puffed from days in the water. Catelyn Stark's dead eyes looked up out of her face, marred by shredded skin and blackened blood. Her throat had been slit to the bone. Arya sobbed and gently closed those blue eyes while Sansa held her mother's hand.

"The Freys dumped her body naked into the Green Fork. They stole her jewels, her clothes and her dignity. They threw her into the river to mock House Tully. In death, our lords and ladies return to the Trident, buried in their feast clothes and with their treasures. They shamed her."

"Did they … did they defile my mother?" Sansa asked Ser Brynden.

"She died trying to escape, Lady Sansa. Lothar Frey told us so at Sevenstreams. She tried to warn your brother Robb and was killed in the attempt. A brave death." Ser Mychel said. Those words offered no solace to Catelyn Stark's daughters.

* * *

Brynden Tully was the first to pay his respects. The Blackfish delivered the prisoners held at Riverrun and then sat at Robb's side. True to his word, Brynden had collected the names of the missing and there were many. The Greatjon, Lord Karstark, Galbart Glover, Dacey Mormont, Wylis Manderly, Medger Cerwyn, Daryn Hornwood, and Helman Tallhart. Even more highborn had been lost at the Twins, although that had been more Rivermen heirs than lords.

The Northmen and Riverlords came to see Robb Stark. They congratulated Sansa on her escape, scrutinized Robb's face and body, and hurled bitter invectives against the Freys. But on what mattered most, they were silent. No one offered to help fight. No one promised swords and spears to take the Twins. No one swore an oath to avenge Robb. Their words were empty.

"They are ashamed." Ser Brynden said when they were alone. "As am I."

"What will you do, Ser? What have the Freys asked for Edmure's head?" Jon asked.

"They said they would free my nephew in exchange for your brother. I have no doubt they have made similar offers to other houses."

"And will you take the offer?"

"Trust the word of a Frey? I would slit my wrists first. Galbart Glover had the right of it when the army first reached the Twins. He said Walder Frey was not to be trusted. And now Glover is a prisoner. Lothar demanded that I yield Riverrun. And if his wife bears a son, I am certain Edmure will have an accident. And then Walder Frey will control the Tully heir." Brynden spat.

"Edmure is a prisoner. Surely he is not bedding the Frey girl."

"My nephew is a good man, but he has a soft heart. If the Frey girl weeps over him and holds his hand, he will forgive her. Or Walder Frey might put a bastard in her belly, and pretend that child is a Tully. Expect the worst from a Frey and you will not be disappointed." Brynden said.

"But you still will not fight against the Freys?" Jon asked.

"I will hold Riverrun against them. But I cannot storm the walls of the Twins. Edmure is my brother's only son. Really his only living child, now that Cat is dead and Lysa has gone mad."

"Without you leading the Tully forces, none of the other Rivermen will fight." Jon said.

"I know. Walder Frey is a treacherous rat but a clever one." Ser Brynden made to leave.

"Wait, Ser. I still have a task for you." Jon said.

"I cannot risk Edmure's life."

"You do not need to. But if you want revenge for your niece and Robb's mother, then there is something I can entrust to you."

"Very well, tell me how I can help." The Blackfish said.

* * *

The Stark camp had expanded, but there were still not enough soldiers. A few survivors of Robb's battle guard stood watch over the Young Wolf but they were watched in turn by Ser Alyn, the Vale knights and Winterfell men. The tents were stuffed with highborn prisoners, the Wintertown boys, little birds, and too few fighters. Outside the tents, wolves roamed at night in the nearby hills - a giant pack that had no fear of armed men in mail and boiled leather. They followed Nymeria, their queen, and sang under the waning moon with the great she-wolf. The howls terrified the horses and prisoners.

"How many men do we have?" Jon asked.

"Less than a thousand, my Lord. But Maege Mormont is only a few days away, and perhaps she will add her numbers to ours." Alyn said.

"And how many soldiers are at the Twins?"

"The Freys had nearly two thousand men at Sevenstreams. We killed some in the fighting but not that many. And the Freys may have held more back at the Twins." Ser Mychel said.

"What about the Rivermen? Why are they here if they won't fight?" Arya said.

"They are duty bound to attempt a rescue of their liege lord. They simply have no idea how to do so." Unfortunately, the Rivermen were more quarrelsome than clever.

"You are the lord of Winterfell, Jon. Without Robb, you are the liege lord of the Umbers, the Karstarks, the Manderlys. You could order them to attack the walls." Sansa said.

"Robb is alive, so he is still Lord of Winterfell. I am his regent. It is a hard thing to ask a son to risk his father's life, or a brother to watch his brother die. I would rather have fewer men I trust, than a larger force of uncertain loyalties. Will you obey me without question against the Freys?"

Ser Mychel knelt. "My lord, you have my sword. I pledged my faith to your brother and House Stark. I failed to keep Robb Stark safe, and I would avenge his betrayal."

"We are Stark men. I made my vows to Ned Stark. I will keep faith with his sons." Alyn said.

The other Stark guards followed, as did Robar Royce and the Valemen. Lord Lyman, Lady Whent and Lord Beric swore their loyalty, although they had very few men. Even Sandor Clegane knelt for a brief moment. Only Brienne held out.

"Lady Brienne, you swore an oath to Catelyn Stark. She is dead, murdered by the Freys. If you wish to leave service to our house, you may." Jon said.

"I swore to return Lady Sansa to her mother, but now that she is dead, I would make sure that she arrives at Winterfell safely. But I do not see how the Freys can be defeated. They outnumber your forces and they are behind strong castle walls."

"It is not a sign of courage to fight only when you will win. Or to be loyal in good times, but not bad. In this world, victory and defeat are not certain. You must fight for it."

"I will obey your orders, Snow. I swear it by the Seven." Brienne said.

"We might be able to get some other allies, Jon. A raven to Lord Reed in Greywater Watch, or the garrison at Moat Cailin." Sansa said.

He shook his head. "I know how to take the Twins. I only need a few more days, not more men. Obey my orders and do not speak to anyone else."

* * *

Jon was north of the castle with Ghost and Balerion when a red headed Piper boy found him surveying the broken bridge with the Winter Town boys. For the most part, the piers still stood, although the planks on top had been swept away. Half the logs that connected the twenty five pairs of pilings remained, as did many of the braces and supports. The Freys were either too stupid or too lazy to do a thorough job.

"Lord Snow, Lord Snow." The young lad huffed and puffed, bent over from the run.

"You are Lord Clement's younger son."

"The Freys want a parley, my Lord. They have come down from the castle, half a dozen of them with their men at arms and knights."

"I have nothing I wish to speak to any Freys about." Jon said bluntly. "And how do you know it is not a trap?"

"They claim they wish to exchange prisoners. Not Lord Tully, but perhaps some knights." Lewys Piper said. The boy plainly hoped that his brother would be traded. Jon doubted that.

He released two ravens into the air. The black birds soared into the sky, one flying over the castle walls, and the other the field in front of the gate house where Frey knights had gathered under a white flag of parley. There were no signs of an ambush.

"Very well, I will come." And as Jon walked back with Ghost at his side, he thought of Brynden Rivers and the Blackfyres pretenders. Bloodraven had not haggled terms with traitors. He had served them Fire and Blood.

* * *

They were waiting for him - the Riverlords, the Northern commanders, his sisters and the Freys. The Blackfish had set up a cordon of crossbowmen and armored knights in a semi-circle around the castle. A formidable defense but the Freys were unlikely to resort to treachery. Jon saw them in their thick cloaks of grey wool - sharp beaked, snot nosed and weak chinned, taking after Lord Walder. Lame Lothar gave an unctuous smile, while Ryman and his three sons glared about hatefully. Other sallow suspicious men followed - rat faced Aenys, stupid Hosteen, Symond the coin counter, and dour Danwell. He made sure to remember all of them.

"Ah, Snow. I am sorry we have to meet again under such circumstances. We would have liked having you as a guest." Lothar said.

"Get to the point. No one wants to spend time talking with lying weasels. And you address Lord Snow, Warden of the North." The Blackfish said.

"Lord Snow? I heard that his brother was still alive. But perhaps that will change." Lothar said.

"Where is Marq? What have you done with my son? He was a **guest** at your bloody wedding." Clement Piper said with outrage.

"He is safe in our cells. His knights and men at arms feed the fishes of the Trident."

"And so will your Piper heir, if Pinkmaiden doesn't bend the knee." Ryman snapped.

"Will you trade my father? It took a dozen of you to subdue him, even when he was dead drunk and unarmed. Imagine how many Freys he would have killed sober." Smalljon Umber said.

"That is not possible until the Umber soldiers are far away from our castle." Lothar chuckled. "No, we mean to trade some lesser names. Perhaps Ser Robin Ryger for Kevan Lannister and his sons."

"Ser Robin lives?" Lord Tytos asked.

"He does, although wounded. Brenett thinks he may lose his right arm, but so far the maester has only cut off three fingers."

"A crippled old knight for Tywin Lannister's brother? Surely you do not take us for fools." Brynden retorted.

"Ryger for Kevan Lannister, and his sons Willem and Martyn." Lothar said.

"I did not know you were a jester, Lame Lothar. I thought you were only a lying weasel that stabbed men in the back. I would rather hang Ser Kevan and his sons than bend the knee to the likes of you." Jonos Bracken yelled to the agreement of many in the room.

The Riverlords did most of the shouting. The Freys sniggered and sneered, certain that they held the whip hand. The Northmen were angry, but they held their tongues. Jon had enough of this mummer's farce.

"The prisoners belong to Winterfell, Lord Bracken. They are not yours to hang or exchange." Jon said. "These are my terms. House Frey will hand over all captives. Walder Frey will surrender the Twins. The Freys will be stripped of their lands for breaking guest right. The men who killed Lady Stark, Lady Talisa and Grey Wind will be given to me to hang."

The Freys gaped in shock until Lothar gave a shrill laugh. "And why would we do any of that, bastard?"

"Bend the knee and I will only kill a few of you. Your sire, of course, and those who directed these crimes. Refuse, and I will destroy House Frey, root and stem."

"You do not have enough men. You cannot pass our walls, even with your full army. And we have captured the lords of your army. Even the Father, the Warrior and the Stranger could not take the Twins without the death of the prisoners." Lothar smirked.

"Then pray to the Seven for mercy, for I will give you none. Soon enough, your line will end."

Jon walked away, leaving behind a stunned crowd. He had more important things to do.

**Author's Notes**

The wolves discover Gerry and Robb scene is based on the Season 7, Episode 2 meeting of Arya and Nymeria. I think the last seasons would be much better with more dire wolves - like imagine a Nymeria/Ghost team up. I would sign a petition for that. The dire wolves know that Gerry was heading south, and wolves have great senses of smell and hearing. Plus they are magical.

In A Storm of Swords, Jon dreams about a dead dire wolf. He wonders whether Summer was killed by the Thenns, but it is really Grey Wind. I haven't reread the Bran chapters, but the magic in Jon's blood is very strong - as strong as Bran - but wasted. Of course, you can argue Bran's whole three eyed raven acid trip is also a huge waste too.

The Queen of Thorns is a bit of a hypocrite but the Purple Wedding only targeted Joffrey. The Red Wedding, as Tyrion notes, involves thousands of dead guests.

If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas. The first reference to this is the John Webster play, _The White Devil_, in 1612. That said, the general saying may be much older.

All sides underestimate the church after Tywin's death and before Cersei blows up the Great Sept. I wonder if this is a comment on the history of the Catholic Church - powerful in bursts but prone to overreach and setbacks. Think of the medieval crusades.

I know in the books, Margaery and Olenna just cluck to Sansa about the Red Wedding. But here there is a high likelihood of retribution against their own men. After all, if the Red Wedding happened and Jaime was a prisoner, he would likely be dead or crippled.

In the books, Robb allows the Rivermen to go back to their castles. Immediately after, little Lyman (8 or 9 years old) is killed by the Mountain. With the extinction of the line, the Iron Throne awards Darry to Lancel and Gatehouse Ami. Shella Whent gets screwed too.

In Dante's _Inferno_, the lowest (9th) circle of Hell belongs to traitors. That puts in perspective Jon Snow stabbing Dany in the Iron Throne.

Officially, Walder Frey has 22 trueborn sons, and 7 trueborn daughters. So 30 is rounding up. But the wiki says that Walder has "sired over a hundred descendents!" That's a lot.

"Explain it to me why it is more noble to kill ten thousand in battle than a dozen at dinner." This is Tywin Lannister's justification for the Red Wedding, a deed that he does not admit outside his family. I think in the books, he only tells Tyrion. Of course, it wasn't a dozen. It was thousands. It is like Stalin saying killing millions in the gulags is fine because it keeps the peace.

"Kinship counts for no more than guest right at the Twins." That is a quote from Tytos when he is surrendering to Jaime Lannister in A Dance with Dragons.

Wolf eyes actually do glow in the dark! They have a special light reflecting surface behind their retinas. They are adapted for nocturnal hunting.

Arya's line about drinking piss comes from several of the reactions to the Freys. Lord Piper said I would rather drink a pint of piss than take the word of the Frey. Wyman Manderly says something about how the Freys want them to eat excrement and smile.

Jon's disagreement with Sansa is perhaps a bit too honorable. As a king or lord, you have to make compromises. A good example is Ned Stark ignoring the death of Elia Martell's children. But remember also the treatment of prisoners. In the books, the captured Manderly is fed human flesh (Vargo Hoat) at Harrenhal. When Wylis is freed by Jaime Lannister, he collapses in tears, his spirit totally shattered.

Some of the dialogue in the exchange with the Freys comes from Feast of Crows during the siege of Riverrun. Lord Piper threatens Edwyn Frey in front of Jaime and the war council. Some good lines there. I thought about a bigger role for Brynden Tully but I decided he would be better as quiet and effective versus loud and useless. The Blackfish was tough as nails.

Root and stem is a term used a few times in Game of Thrones. Arya Stark uses the phrase in a speech before poisoning the Freys. Daenerys and Cersei both say those words as well.

Jon's demands and threats mirror the Burning of Harrenhal. Of course, Aegon's plan was more obvious. The Freys are quite confident. They see no reason to fear Jon - like Jaime at the Whispering Wood, Tywin at the Red Fork, the Reach at the God's Eye.


	35. God of War

**God of War**

There was no ale or mead for dinner, not even for the sons of Lord Walder.

At first, the boy was not surprised. Wine, ale, and cider had been consumed by the bucket at Lord Trout's wedding, and a far larger quantity shipped to Sevenstreams - hundreds of barrels and kegs and casks to lull the Northmen into a drunken stupor. The castle's provisions ran low, not the best state before a potential siege. But then he saw that Ryman, famous as a glutton and drunk, had no wine with his food. And that Hosteen Frey was armored and armed, with a heavy kite shield at his feet. The older Freys were sullen and resentful, more so than usual, and lacking the braggadocio of the morning.

Big Walder Frey, the nine year old son of Jammos, had spied on Lothar and the others when they returned to the hall from the meeting. Snow's words were dismissed as the ravings of a lunatic. True, the wolves had unexpected success on the field but that came with their full army and the element of surprise. In two hundred years, no man had dared to assault the Twins. And when they cut off a hand from a Mallister or foot from a Hornwood, the army would splinter and abandon the Starks. Perhaps, Lothar japed, the Freys would give Roslin more wolf pelts for her wedding. Symond boasted that with the promise of freedom for a lord, he might bribe an Umber or Karstark to steal Robb's insensate body from the camp.

There was no bragging or bluster at dinner. Ryman grumbled about the lack of drink and gorged himself on chicken and onions, the juices dripping over his set of chins. But the other Freys were not so piggish. Aenys and Jared huddled together, surrounded by knights and goodsons. Hosteen left after bolting down a gob of meat and strapping the shield on his broad back. Servants delivered messages to Edwyn and soldiers to Black Walder. Something was afoot but what could have changed that day? No ravens had flown to the Twins. No prisoners had died. Most importantly, Lord Trout was locked away - Big Walder had passed Roslin, her face streaked with tears, returning from her daily visit to the cells.

He finished the meal, pocketing two trenchers of bread dipped in brown gravy. Big Walder made his way to the other set of dungeons, where a copper groat bought passage to see Ser Robert, his mother's younger brother. Two Paege ladies had married into the Freys, but his uncle was one of Edmure Tully's bold companions, all of whom languished at the Twins.

"Uncle." Big Walder rapped on the cell, waving the half loaves of bread.

"Don't call me that." Ser Robert's velvet tunic was soiled, the twining red and white snake sigil ripped and stained. Bruises and a broken nose marked the formerly handsome face.

"I am sure they give you little to eat." The boy held the trencher forward, a drop of gravy dripping on the muddy ground. This close to the river, the doors, walls and floor were perpetually damp.

The knight snatched the bread. "Why are you here, Walder? Your father killed Ser Kellery at the wedding. The Vances will not forget their dead brother."

"Have you heard anything, Ser?"

The knight snorted. "What news would I hear that you have not? The whole castle knows of Jon Snow's demands. He wants Lord Walder's head, the captives freed and the Twins surrendered."

"And what do you think?"

"Who doesn't want Lord Walder dead? Your father and uncles have longed for that for years. Sadly, the old weasel lives on. The Hornwood boy swears that Snow will rescue them, but I don't see how. The Northmen claim the White Wolf is a sorcerer."

Big Walder had heard stories that Jon Snow drank the blood of his enemies and conjured flocks of crows and packs of wolves in battle. A few days ago, a scout returned with a particularly outlandish tale - the bastard had made fools of the Lannisters and burnt the Iron Throne when he rescued Sansa Stark from the Imp's clutches. Lothar ordered the man whipped for spreading lies. No one could cozen Lord Tywin. That was known.

His uncle devoured the trencher and demanded the other hunk of bread. "I was at Riverrun when Snow arrived to help his brother break the siege. He set a siege tower on fire and toppled it on a shield wall of Crakehall and Marbrand men. He burned them alive."

"Jaime Lannister's forces were on the field. Our men are behind thick walls."

"I hope he kills you all. I don't see how Snow can take the castle but I will pray that the Stranger waits outside your door."

"If Death comes, it will come for all of us, including Edmure and you." Big Walder said.

"Worth dying to see Lord Walder punished for his crimes." Ser Robert spat and turned away. His uncle said no more.

Big Walder walked from the courtyard to the outer bailey, passing the chapel and the sounds of prayer of women to the Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone. He climbed the stairs of the gatehouse that hung over the drawbridge. When he reached the battlements full of soldiers, Big Walder suddenly knew why his uncles had turned sullen. On the Western side of the Green Fork, a thousand campfires burned as far as the eye could see. A vast number of shields hung on trees and tents, sigils hidden by the flames. And lines of men marched, with many torches held up high in the night. How could the Stark numbers have increased so much? Big Walder was not the only one nervous. The soldiers and knights kept a wary vigil, arrows and quarrels nocked and catapults ready to fire. It would be a long night on the walls.

* * *

He flew over the gloom, the fading light in the sky no trouble for a raven's sharp eyes. The Twins truly were twins, identical stone keeps with the same numbers of walls, towers, and baileys, and equidistant from the Water Tower. Each castle had a high vaulted great hall and above that hall, a large windowed bedroom for the Lord of the Crossing. Walder Frey reserved both rooms for his use alone, so he could fondle young women in privacy.

That night, the meal was served in the western hall, and the sons and grandsons of Lord Walder clustered later at the gatehouse and barbican overlooking the Northern camps. A few soldiers manned the defenses to the East but Jon had no doubt the bulk of the Frey forces were in the keep West of the Trident. Unfortunately, the raven, even with keen eyes and ears, could not find the dungeons, likely hidden in the depths of the castle. For that, he would need a different animal - one used to skulking in dark corridors, and frightened by no man or beast. Jon cradled Balerion in both arms, when a loud cry rang through the tent.

"My Lord, you cannot go in, unannounced." Chett cried.

The black tom hissed and jumped to the floor. Jon pulled aside the makeshift screen to see the Hound snarling at a bunch of Rivermen. "Lord Tytos, what can I do for you?"

"I want in, Snow. I know you are planning something." Lord Tytos had come with his two sons, hot headed Brynden and bookish Hoster.

"And what am I planning?"

"I don't know. But when I see Tully men set five fires each, I know that is not for cooking meat. Old Desmond Grell doesn't huff and puff up the Green Fork, tossing a torch away at the end of every march, for no reason. I despise Lord Walder. He had Lucas killed, and imprisoned my liege and young Ben. I would give much to bloody the Freys."

"But not your men." Jon said.

Lord Blackwood did not hide his bitterness. "I cannot risk Lord Tully or Ben."

Jon thought for a moment. "There is a shipyard near the Whispering Wood that serves the merchants of Ramsford and Fairmarket. Get the yardmaster and buy all the rope, canvas, nails and pitch. Bring them to the Winter Town crew as soon as possible."

"I will rush out there and drag him out of bed." Tytos said.

Jon rolled his eyes. "That is exactly what I do not want you to do. If Lord Blackwood rode down with his knights to Fairmarket, the Freys might find out. Send Hoster instead to rouse him. Have Brynden organize a convoy of wagons to bring the supplies in the morning. "

"But what can I do?" Tytos said, frustrated.

A smile crossed Jon's face. "Tomorrow afternoon, before the sun goes down, I want you to pick a fight with Jonos Bracken."

"Fight with the Lord Idiot of Stone Hedge? Why, that will be as easy as breathing."

"A public squabble with a lot of shouting. One that the Freys can see from the walls. But I want no one hurt. And afterwards, you and your men will storm off and pretend to leave the camps."

"And this will help you with your plans?"

"Aye, just like the Tully men. Do your part, Lord Tytos. Trust me to do mine."

* * *

That night, Jon ate a simple meal of bread and cheese in the tent with his sisters and their guards when Chett stood up at the benches for the Winter Town boys and the little birds.

"Maester Snow, I had a thought. You asked us to leave for Sevenstreams tonight."

"I did, Chett. The raven said that Clydas and Denys found many barrels."

"Maester, Gendry told me something very interesting." The excited boy pointed to the red priest. "He said that Thoros of Myr could outdrink even King Robert. That he was a sot and a fraud, the worst priest you could ever imagine."

The ascetic priest, now gray bearded and thin, frowned slightly at the embarrassed apprentice. "That was rather unkind, Gendry. True but unkind. I am a false priest no longer. The Lord of Light has opened my eyes…."

Chett interrupted. "Maester, you asked the Winter Town boys to scavenge the casks. But it makes far more sense for Thoros to steal a keg of mead or ale."

Jon cocked an eye at the startled Thoros. "True. Lord Beric and Thoros - the Freys departed Sevenstreams in a rush, leaving behind many discarded barrels. How many Brotherhood men do you have from here to Sevenstreams?"

"A few dozen, Lord Snow. And allies and sympathizers in the area, from septons, serving wenches, and innkeeps." Beric answered.

"You mean, bandits, thieves and whores." Sandor Clegane snorted.

"Take Chett with you to Sevenstreams and have your men bring back every cask, pipe and hogshead near the tents."

"What do you need wine or ale for?" a confused Thoros asked.

"I don't need wine. I need empty barrels, as many as can be found."

"Forgive us, Snow, but we don't understand." Mychel Redfort said. He expressed the curiosity that many others in the tent had.

Jon spoke in a kindly voice. "That is why you are a knight, Ser, and not a maester. The next few days will be a time for maesters. But soon enough, we will need strong arms and swords. Then there will be night work and knight's work."

* * *

Bleary-eyed soldiers stumbled into the great hall the next morning. The fires had burned well into the night. And when the flames dwindled to embers that still lit the western shoreline, the wolves began to howl. Through stone walls and wooden doors, the howls echoed through the castle, sending shivers down the spines of women and children. Even grown men, armed with longswords and shields, watched the shadows nervously.

Big Walder Frey had slept poorly. Each time he managed to fall asleep, the howling would get louder. And his two snot nosed younger brothers sobbed through the night, afraid that the wolves would kill them all. That was cousin Merry's fault. She had dreamed of a bleeding and burning giant torn to pieces by wolves on a river. The hysterical girl had told everyone who would listen about her so-called vision. Merrianne should have been a mummer, he thought. There were no giants at the Twins.

"How did the bastard get so many men?" Black Walder asked.

"We can hardly ask our spies now." Symond snapped back.

"It doesn't matter." Lothar said. "With Tully a prisoner and Robb Stark near death, Snow's forces will fade away. The Riverlords know that we will hang their heirs. The Northmen will learn that soon enough. The bastard cannot hold his army together."

Lame Lothar was right. That morning, the shields on the trees had vanished. The light drizzle made the entire world seem gray, and soldiers could be seen slinking south with their horses. If Snow had more men, they were hiding in the ragged tents, and certainly no threat to the Freys. From an embrasure in a parapet, Big Walder spied on a line of highborn prisoners - ladies and boys - being delivered to the Stark tent by a short woman in plate armor. Wagons, merchants, and a surprising number of children could be seen at the camps, but fewer and fewer men. And those men were not armored knights on war horses or well trained archers and crossbowmen but a motley crew of unruly smallfolk.

Later, a spat broke out between the Blackwoods and the Brackens. The two Riverlords stood nose to nose, pushing and shoving, to the great displeasure of Brynden Tully. Old wounds were reopened, in particular how the Brackens provided two mistresses to Aegon the Unworthy, sisters eager to serve the old whoremonger on their knees. Jonos Bracken insulted the manliness of the Blackwoods, calling them prissy pansies, more interested in the company of strapping young men than wenches. Tytos shot back that none of his sons wanted a Bracken whore. The exchange deteriorated from there, into the shaking of fists and waving of swords. In the end, the two sides were forced apart and no blood was shed. The Blackfish called the two men dunces, a sentiment shared by many observers. Both lords stormed off, furious, and the Blackwood knights mounted horses to ride away.

On the second night, his uncles grinned and smirked as they crammed down salt pork and turnip mash. Only half as many fires burned, and many were small, the flames barely surviving the light rain. Fewer tents dotted the shore, and there were no trebuchets, siege towers, ladders, or battering rams. Half a dozen catapults lay on the grass, but in pieces, with no crew fixing the broken machines. Snow did not have the means to break the gates or storm the walls. After dark, wolves howled but the cries were farther away. No attack came in the night. And in the light of the morning, the once feared Northern army looked even weaker.

"I say we toss our night soil down at the Starks." Edwyn said. "When disease breaks out in their camps, Snow will run like a dog. Our men can sally forth and capture the prisoners."

"And do you plan to lead us in the charge? Would you like to confront the North on the field?" Lame Lothar said.

"I am not a man of the sword." Edwyn said, his nose pinched and thin lips pressed into a sneer. He looked like a man smelling his own shit.

"Our knights and men have barely slept the last two nights. The Mormonts arrived yesterday. There are only a few but their fighters are fresh from holding the Tooth." Symond said.

"The Mormonts are no worry. I would be happy to catch more She-bears to warm my bed for the cold winter nights." Black Walder Frey said, with an ugly smile.

On the third day, very little happened. A siege, without equipment, sorties or skirmishes, was deadly dull. Boredom and routine reigned over the Twins. Edmure was dragged out by a leash but the threat barely registered. The Freys were used to the antics, the Riverlords were busy squabbling, and the North did not care. Big Walder attended lessons with the maester and wondered if the siege would soon be over. Outside the walls, squires packed tents and saddled horses and the smallfolk children disappeared. That night, the fires along the Green Fork dwindled further. Servants brought ale and wine again with fish pie and roast lamb. No one guzzled and ate more than Ryman Frey, his blotchy face red and bloated.

* * *

The third night would be a moonless sky. Fourteen days had passed since the Traitor's Feast, and the preparations were finished, if rushed. Everything had been built, but not yet tested. There was no time for that.

Jon had told Arya and Sansa the complete plan. The others - Stark guards, the knights, the Wintertown Boys, and the little birds - received instructions on their role only. A few minor houses - crannogmen, mountain clans, and bastard knights - offered their aid. Jon refused, preferring silence. He would not risk any whisper reaching the Freys. It was harder though to deny the Mormonts, who were eager to join in any assault.

"We want to fight. We want to avenge Dacey." the She-Bear said in a private conference with House Stark.

"Dacey is not dead. But if the Freys see House Mormont, that could change."

"You know nothing, Snow" Lyra yelled.

"What Lyra means to say is that you may be clever, but you do not understand the world. House Mormont has fought the krakens and the wildlings for hundreds of years. We know what happens to women captured in battle." Maege said firmly.

"She is a hostage. Surely the Freys would not subject her to such …. abuse?" Sansa asked.

"This is not your father or brother, Lady Sansa. These are the Freys. Lord Walder might demand his turn first before letting his sons rape my daughter. I will not let Dacey rot at the Twins. Better dead than a broodmare for Walder Frey." Maege said. "I had five daughters, Snow. One died for you in battle. Lyra and I might die trying to rescue Dacey. But if we all pass, then Lyanna will rule Bear Island. She can make more Mormonts. I will not allow the Freys to abuse Dacey."

The women of Bear Island were fierce and proud. Lyanna was only a girl of nine name days when the Northern army departed Winterfell. "No, Lady Maege. You made vows to House Stark. You will serve better by appearing to depart south."

"The entire army appears to be heading south." Lyra snarked. "Are we going to allow the Freys to laugh at us? To think the North is weak?"

"All warfare is based on deception. Let the Freys laugh all they want. Appearing weak is not weakness. I cannot tell you the plans but I will say this. Look for me tomorrow at dawn."

"How will they find us?" Arya asked pointedly.

"Give me your war horn." Jon extended his hand to Maege. "When you hear it, you will know."

* * *

It was deep in the night when Jon paddled the raft down the river. The water was cold, the sky was dark and the Trident had quieted from a growl to a ripple, the only noise that broke the silence. Torchlight shone from the gatehouses on the outer walls of the Twins. The castle interior, the stone bridge and the Water Tower were dark. Jon aimed the raft for the central stone pier between two arched channels where the Green Fork rushed through.

Balerion sat next to Jon, the green yellow eyes staring intently at the bridge. The black tom's vision was blurred and gray but a cat needed far less light to see. Balerion was better at picking up motion and could smell and hear a human from far away. The cat hissed slightly and leaped into the top of a leather satchel. It was time.

Jon whirled the grapnel and threw it up toward the bridge. It took three tries but he wrapped the hooks about the crenellations on the stone bridge. He guided the raft so it butted against the stone pier. Then he braced two long planks on both ends of the raft. The poles extended far to the side, so the raft would stay in place. He carried the satchel on one shoulder, and extra loops of rope on the other. With Balerion's head peeking over his neck, Jon shimmied up the rope, legs walking up the wall. He leaped over the side, and kneeled, making sure no one had seen or heard him. Balerion descended from the satchel, sniffing the air. All was quiet on the Crossing. Jon took a white cloth and signaled to the North.

* * *

Arya saw the flash of white on the stone bridge and eagerly jumped onboard. She joined Ghost and Chett at the front with Ser Mychel at the back. The Hound and Brienne hesitated.

"Are we certain this thing won't capsize?" Clegane said.

The Winter Town boys had built dozens of rafts, out of wood scavenged from the bridge erected by the Northern Army, ropes bought from the yard, and barrels emptied at Sevenstreams. The Stark guards waited in the hills, while little birds and the rest of the crew watched from a pier.

"Quiet, stupid." Arya said.

"Ser, these boats won't sink." Chett pointed at the four ale barrels lashed to each corner, under the water. "The barrels are sealed and empty. Air is lighter than water, so they must float."

"Are these truly seaworthy? Has anyone ever travelled on a raft like this on the Trident?" Brienne asked.

"Jon just did, and he is already on the bridge." Arya said, rolling her eyes.

"Your brother is mad." Sandor snarked. But he and Brienne boarded the bobbing raft. The three fighters spread out, while Ghost stayed by Arya's side and Chett steered. Water lapped over the sides but the trip was quick and untroubled.

The boat bumped gently against the first raft. Arya caught the rope that flew over the side of the bridge. She tied the rope end through a large wooden cage and coaxed Ghost into the crate. The dire wolf crouched and they shut the box. On the bridge, Jon cranked the windlass and the pulley plucked Ghost into the air until he disappeared over a crenel. A brief moment later, the rope, sans the crate, was dropped down again into Arya's hand.

Arya got off her knees and wrapped legs and arms about the rope. Soon, she was pulled onto the bridge. She took in her surroundings as Jon worked on lifting the others with the pulley and windlass. The dark tower loomed over them, the top a good forty feet off the bridge. Only a few arrow slits on each side broke the monotony of the gray stone walls until the battlements were reached. No light shone from inside the Water Tower. Two hundred fifty feet in either direction, the tall carved doors leading to the castles were shut.

Ser Mychel, Brienne, and Sandor Clegane had made it up the bridge. Chett would stay below to lash the rafts together. Jon rolled up the pulley and the windlass, placing it back into a satchel.

"How do you expect to get into the tower? Are you going to knock?" Clegane asked.

"Could we pick the lock?" Brienne whispered.

The Water Tower had only one entryway facing east, an arched door of solid oak, reinforced with iron bands. A metal ring was held in the mouth of a hideous devil-like face and attached by a hinge to a plate on the upper right. "A door like this will be barred at night, and only opened in the morning." Ser Mychel said.

Jon took two black leather straps that tied to his wrists and wrapped about the hand, leaving the fingers free. Three short steel claws were attached to the inner palm of each strap. "We are not going through the door. We are going over the wall."

Jon took out two more straps and wrapped them around the feet. The claws hooked out from the soles. The black tom nodded, and then jumped into the satchel. Jon hefted the leather bag over his right arm and the rope over his left. He rubbed Ghost for good luck, and moved to the northern face of the tower to begin the ascent.

Jon climbed like a cat, the tiger claws punching holds and grips into the rough stone with ease. Up and up he went, until the steady burble of the river faded. Twice, near an arrow slit, he stopped, and warged into Balerion. The cat could smell the stink of men through the walls, but detected no movement. The dire wolf could smell even better, but Jon could not climb with Ghost on his back. He put those thoughts away as he climbed higher and higher until they reached the battlements. Balerion meowed softly into Jon's right ear. He did not need the warning. From this close, he could hear a soft rattle beyond the parapet. He inched up further, hidden by the merlon until the cat leaped onto the roof.

There were two of them, men in mail shirts - one snoring on his back, and the other dozing, his back against the wall. The black tom hissed, and the startled Frey soldier leaned over to examine Balerion. Jon jumped over the crenel and slammed the steel claws into the man's throat and mouth. Blood gushed out but Jon held his right hand over the face until the body went limp. He took out a dagger and cut the sleeper's throat. From the top of the Water Tower, Jon could see a few far away glimmers of torchlight in the castle. He checked the unlocked door, making certain there were no other guards. Silence still ruled over the night. Jon pulled out the pulley, rope and windlass. He had more work to do.

* * *

They assembled again on top of the battlements. Balerion had already padded down the stairs and Ghost followed soon after, the dire wolf descending quiet as a shadow. Ser Mychel and Brienne readied their swords while Clegane dragged the bodies away.

"How many do you think are in the Water Tower?" Arya asked.

"Maybe a dozen, but likely asleep. I saw no light on the climb up." Jon replied.

"Should we take captives, Lord Snow? They might tell us where the prisoners are." Mychel said.

"A captive might lie to save his life, or worse, lead us into a trap. We cannot risk any alarm. Kill everyone that we find. Search every corner and show no mercy." Jon said.

They killed ten more Frey men at arms on the way down, all of them still slumbering from the feast that night. Ghost could smell the ale and beer mixed with sweat. On the ground floor, Clegane unbarred the door, letting the cool breeze mix with the stale air.

"Well Snow, you have gotten us into the tower. But five of us can't take the Twins, unless Arya water dances them all to death. What are you going to do now?" Sandor said.

"It is the hour of the eel. We have three more hours until dawn, and then another hour until they open the castle doors. Every day, a bit after the sunrise, the doors open, and servants walk between the two keeps." Jon said.

"What about Frey soldiers? Do they also come then?" The Hound asked.

"Not many. Few men walk the bridge. Every morning, the guards from the gatehouse break their fast at the great hall. Now, we have a simple task - to bring more men to the tower." Jon stepped out on the north side, and waved at Chett. The boy had lashed together both rafts. Jon waved the white cloth. A line of rafts began to float from the broken wooden bridge, the barrels bobbing on the Green Fork. On each raft, kneeling guards huddled together with Winter Town boys and little birds. In groups of eights and tens, the Stark men began to arrive on the bridge.

* * *

It was still dark when the operation halted. Thirty one large rafts were lashed together, front to back, and formed a tail that stretched nearly from the Crossing to the wooden piers. After they had finished, Jon directed the little birds back to the broken bridge, to keep warm in the night. Many of the Winter Town crew stayed on the bridge, and wood, planks, and nails were strewn over the ground floor. Parts and ammunition for two carroballista were dragged up to the battlements, and the archers staked out the slits on the walls facing the two keeps.

Three hundred Stark guards sat quietly on the lower floors of the Water Tower, while archers waited on the higher levels. It was too early to string bows, and load crossbows, so men yawned and waited.

Jon sat on the floor, guarded by the Hound and Arya. He reached out and sensed Nymeria far away but Balerion black tom probed the castle walls until he had found a forgotten window vent overlooking a storeroom. The cat explored dark corridors, scouting for guards, and smelling for prisoners. Unfortunately, every room stank of sweat and decay. The outside of the Twins had a certain gloomy beauty. The inside though was ugly and cramped, a function of too many people in too small a space. Jon traced Balerion's steps through the keep - down staircases, past kitchens and stables, and through barracks. Soldiers sprawled out in a disorderly mess. The cat traversed the castle, searching and searching, delving into every nook and cranny, until at least the castle had given up its secrets.

* * *

He opened his eyes. Men were preparing for battle, sharpening weapons, donning armor, and coating bowstrings with wax. The nighttime hours had almost passed and soon the sky would brighten with the soft light of the sun below the horizon. The nightingales would awake and sing, an odd accompaniment to a bloody battle.

"Lord Snow, should we call for the rest of our men? There are still a few hundred left at the broken bridge." Alyn asked.

"No, they will come when the battle begins. The bridge is only wide enough for two wagons to cross abreast. We can only place so many archers on the battlements and at the arrow slits. The corridors of the Twins are narrow. We are not fighting in the open. The most important element will be surprise." Jon said.

"The Freys will have two thousand, my Lord. We have four hundred. We have better men, but they have the numbers" Mychel added.

"Summon our men." Jon said.

They gathered at a guardroom, the leaders of the Stark forces at the front. Anguy the Archer, Lord Beric, Thoros of Myr. The bold Vale knights. Ser Alyn. Brienne and Sandor Clegane. Gerry and Chett. Jon addressed them, with Arya and Ghost at his side.

"Two weeks ago, the Freys attacked Robb and the North. They slaughtered men at a feast, captured Lord Tully at a wedding to a Frey girl, killed Lady Stark, and butchered our allies. The septons and maesters say that the gods - the old ones and the new - curse those who break guest right. But we are not fighting for the gods. We fight for our brothers. We fight for our men. We fight to show that treachery will lose to honor and justice."

"Lord Snow, what of women and children? And what if soldiers surrender?" Brienne asked.

"I intend to show the same mercy Lord Walder would give us. But as for prisoners, you may take them in battle. Make certain they will not stab you in the back. Your lives are more valuable than Freys. As for Walder and his sons, bring them to me dead or alive.

"We all want revenge for the fallen at Sevenstreams." Ser Robar said.

"And you shall have it. Whether we live or die, we will make Lord Walder pay. Strike hard and strike true." Jon said, dismissing the men.

* * *

Most of the soldiers departed from the room, leaving only the commanders and personal guards, awaiting their orders. "Pretty words, Snow, but do you really expect us to take the castle? How do you plan to attack?" Clegane said.

"We have three goals." Jon made a crude drawing of the western castle and marked several rooms. "This is the armory of the castle, where they will store extra armor, arrows, pole arms, and any siege engines. Arya will go and burn the storeroom."

His sister nodded. "I have the pitch ready."

"Perhaps Lord Beric and I should go with her. We have experience setting things on fire." Thoros of Myr said.

Jon nodded. He pointed to the great hall. "The dungeons are between the great hall and the river. We need to secure the prisoners. Brienne and Ser Alyn, that is your task. I think the eastern dungeons will be less guarded. Take them first. As for the western castle, send the majority of the guards there. The fighting may be intense at the great hall. That is the heart of the castle and where the Freys will make their stand. Remember that the task is the prisoners. Do not risk your lives trying to take the castle. "

"And what is the third goal, Snow?" The Hound said.

"Open the gates. When the attack starts, the Freys will fight at the hall or try to retake the bridge. A small group can make it past the bailey, and to the gatehouse. If we can raise the portcullis and lower the drawbridge, the battle is over." Jon held out the Mormont warhorn.

"I am in." The Hound said.

"So are we." Ser Mychel spoke for the three other Vale Knights. Together they would storm the gates, or die trying.

"Good, get ready. When the doors open, we will attack."

Chett waited until everyone had left. "Maester Snow, you didn't tell them about the final task."

Jon smiled. "They don't need to know. It is always good to hold something in reserve. Let the Freys commit their forces and we will surprise them once again."

"You can count on us, Maester." The boy left to join the rest of the crew.

* * *

For once, it was not raining. The sun had risen over the Green Fork, the sky was clear, and birds chirped in the morning light. The two sets of doors opened, and smallfolk servants emerged from both sides. Serving girls brought baskets of soiled linen to wash in the river. And soldiers hooted and hollered as they walked the bridge, eager to woo the maids. A black haired man grabbed a nubile wench by her waist and shoved a hand up her skirts. His companions laughed as the girl stumbled, her pale legs exposed to the thighs.

An arrow sprouted in the middle of the bold man's forehead, just above the center of the two close-set eyes. More arrows and quarrels rained down from the slits, and the servants were too stunned to do anything but scream in shock as Frey men died. The door for the Water Tower burst open, with Brienne, Ser Mychel and Clegane leading the way. But no one could match the dire wolf. Ghost cleared the distance between the tower and the western castle in seconds, and sprang through the doors, ripping men apart with the ease of a child playing with toy soldiers. The Hound and the Vale knights breached the western side and Brienne and Ser Alyn did the same on the east. Spikes were jammed into the doors, making them impossible to close. In a few minutes, the entire length of the stone bridge was full of Stark men. And at the wooden bridge, rafts launched again on the Trident.

* * *

Arya was dressed once again as a smallfolk, in drab browns and forest green. She had hacked off her hair, and the brown cloak covered her red and gold brigandine, and swords. She trotted swiftly to the doors. "Hurry up."

Gendry groaned under the weight of the firkin in his arms. "This is really heavy. I don't see anyone else carrying things."

"Roll it on the ground, stupid." Arya said. "We have to go. You don't see anyone else dawdling." Jon and Ghost had disappeared into the castle with the knights and the Hound. Stark men surged forward, rushing into the keep. As for the servants at the Twins, either they begged for mercy on their knees, or they fled before the attack, shrieking and wailing.

They made quick progress, before encountering a staircase to their left. The black cat met them at the steps, hissed, and turned. Thoros and Beric lent a hand, the three of them lifting the cask as they descended. Arya followed Balerion, the tom leading the way. They went left and then right and came to a long corridor. Arya dropped to one knee, listening carefully. She heard footsteps in the darkness, and angry voices. She pointed, their destination at hand.

Thoros and Beric took out their weapons. The priest muttered a prayer to the Lord of Light, and the Lightning Lord ran a blade through his palm, cutting his hand open. Both swords burst into bright yellow flames.

"How did you do that?" Arya couldn't stop from asking.

"Thoros used cheap swords and wildfire at King's Landing." Gendry said.

"The days of those shabby tricks are over. The Lord of Light has blessed me with true magic."

Beric only gave a sad smile at Thoros' words, before the two charged ahead. Gendry followed, his war hammer at hand. Shouts of surprise and the clash of swords on shields rang out.

Arya crept down the hall, pushing the barrel. Thoros and Beric had already bought down three men, but several soldiers still stood in front of a large open door, as wide across as two tall men Arya could see even more Frey men in that room, some grabbing crossbows and spears.

Arya gently cut a hole through the bung of the firkin and jabbed a cord, dipped in wax, into the hole. She struck the flint against a lump of steel, until the sparks caught on the fuse.

"Out of the way." She yelled as she rushed the barrel down the corridor, the cord aflame. With one last push, she angled it through the door, and then ducked for cover.

For a brief moment, nothing happened and then the pitch caught fire. The barrel exploded, engulfing the armory in flames. Desperate men scrambled out, only to be cut down by Thoros and Beric. Others ran away, and fell to Arya's blades and Gendry's hammer in the back. Screams could be heard in the room still, as the dark reddish fires blocked any exit. Black smoke billowed out and then there were no cries, only an inferno that consumed the weapons of the armory. Sweat dripped on her smiling face.

"Let's go." Arya said.

"Where to, my Lady?" The Lightning Lord asked, his sword now red with blood and not flames.

"The gatehouse. We are going to help Jon take the castle." Arya followed Balerion without looking back.

* * *

Brienne kept her shield up and sword ready as she strode down the hall, leading a bunch of Winterfell men. They had been assigned by Ser Alyn, who after spiking the eastern door, had moved to reinforce the western side. They were an odd bunch, but they were proud of their house, wearing a tabard of a grey dire wolf, with white eyes, over their silver mail. Some even had cloaks pinned with hands of beaten silver to commemorate Ned Stark's brief time as Hand of the King.

"My lady, perhaps you should allow me to lead.' A stocky clean shaven man said.

She did not have a good memory for names. Was this Hayhead or Porther? She knew he was not fat enough to be Alebelly or Fat Tom, and the unfortunately named Poxy Tim had scars on his face. "And why should I do that?" Brienne replied.

"Well, everyone knows that a Northman is worth ten Southron swords and…"

Four Freys jumped out from behind a screen. Two were armored, and likely had been on patrol duty. One had only a breastplate and shield and the last wore a mail hauberk over a gambeson. Brienne bull-rushed, trusting in her steel shield and sturdy blue plate armor. She got past the first two men and sliced down, her blade severing the right arm of the third man near his shoulder. She slammed the shield into the hauberk, the rim clanging into the chin. A brutal slice later, and the fourth soldier was down, bleeding from a cut throat. The two armored men turned but hesitated, knowing that they could be easily flanked. In that moment, Brienne thrust her sword into a cheek, the bloody point coming out the other side. The last man attempted to run, and Brienne brought him down with a swift kick. She pulled out a thin poniard and plunged it through the back of the gorget.

"Bloody Hell, Harwin, she can really fight." Fat Tom said.

"You were saying?" Brienne said, wiping the sword and dagger on the stained gambeson.

"We are glad to follow your leadership, my lady." The stocky man squeaked.

"I am no lady." Brienne said as she sheathed the poniard and took up the longsword.

When they entered the dungeon, the jailer blanched, promptly threw down the keys and scurried away. Brienne thought for a moment about pursuit but decided prisoners were more important than an old hunchbacked man. They found Marq Piper, Daryn Hornwood, Lord Goodbrook, Little Ben Blackwood, and many others from the riverlands.

A tall man with a wine stain birthmark stretching from cheek to neck took charge. "How did you find us?" Karyl Vance asked. The lord helped some of the weaker captives to their feet.

"Snow. He took the bridge." Brienne responded. There were ten highborn prisoners and a dozen more squires and pages, but besides Hornwood, the Northmen were not here. Neither was Edmure Tully.

"The bridge - Not the castle? But how?"

Brienne pursed her lips. "You will understand, Lord Vance, when you see the bridge."

"Edmure is in the other castle - so that Lord Walder and the Frey scum can gloat over him." Robert Paege said.

"I hear many men coming." a fat Stark guard shouted.

They beat a hasty retreat, Brienne and Karyl Vance holding the rear. The riverlord looted a few shields and swords from the dead soldiers. And many of the prisoners had suffered poor treatment, even the young boys. She could hear the baying of hounds as they ran the corridor. At least a score of Frey men at arms pursued them, waving swords and spears. They made it past the doors onto the stone bridge. Stark guards defending the water tower marched east toward them, a forest of spear points down the center of the bridge. The Freys and their hounds rushed forward, only to stop in shock. A six foot spear whistled over Brienne's head, skewering three soldiers through the torso. Quarrels, bolts, even rocks rained down on the enemy, and then another massive bolt nailed a hound through his head. The dogs whined and whimpered, and men ran, only to be shot in the back by arrows. Another giant spear whooshed through the air. The ballistas on the battlements ruled the bridge.

The phalanx parted, allowing them to make their way west. The prisoners stared in wonder at the hive of activity. Stark men swarmed the Crossing, and more guards formed rows of eights with spears and shields to assault the castle. At the western riverbank, rafts landed against the last pier, and men scaled ropes and ladders to the bridge. But what surprised Brienne was the action around the Water Tower. A dozen Winter Town boys were busy with nails and wood, hammering planks together into large flat sheets. Chett oversaw the pulley and windlass as those same sheets were being lowered down toward the river. On the tail of rafts that stretched from stone bridge to wooden bridge, small figures danced about, placing the wood decks down, and orders were shouted and relayed back and forth.

"What are they doing?" Brienne said, wondering.

The freed Rivermen gaped at the line of rafts bobbing together. "How did they build all this?" Karyl Vance asked.

"Wood, rope, pitch, nails and barrels. The Freys were kind enough to leave us the empty ale and wine barrels at Sevenstreams." Chett said.

"We must go to Lord Edmure's rescue." Ser Robert Paege said.

"You will need armor and shields." Brienne said.

Chett pointed to a large pile of armor and weapons. "We stripped the bodies killed by our archers. Help yourself." The boy returned to his work, overseeing the little birds and his crew.

* * *

Brienne led the rivermen, the Hornwood boy, and the half dozen Winterfell men into the castle. Here, the fighting had been more intense. Bodies littered the hallways, and doors and windows had been smashed and broken beyond repair. Most of the dead were Frey men but some were hapless servants caught in the crossfire. Many more smallfolk had surrendered and knelt on the ground, weeping.

She found Ser Alyn in the great hall, a third of the way into the western castle. The Twins were two formidable castles, built with extensive fortifications, walls and towers. None of them protected from an attack from inside. The Stark forces had cleared the rooms to the great hall, but there they met with strong resistance.

"Ser Alyn, we have rescued the rivermen." Brienne said.

"Well met, Ser. What of Edmure Tully?" Karyl Vance said.

"The Freys are defending the staircases. They are fighting hard to prevent us from reaching them. Lord Tully is in a dungeon on a lower level." Alyn replied.

"That staircase also leads up to the keep. Lord Walder Frey sleeps there." Robert Paege said.

"Aren't there other staircases down?" Brienne asked.

"There are, but Lady Arya set the armory on fire. The flames make it too difficult to reach the dungeons from the steps closer to the bridge."

"Then we shall clear a path." Marq Piper said. He prepared to charge the shield wall. The Frey knights were densely packed, the kite shields overlapping.

"Wait, Ser. There must be a better way." Brienne said. Charging a wall of shields held by trained men would be costly. In battles, such a formation was broken by cavalry, not infantry.

"At Riverrun, the Crakehall men made a last stand. Snow dropped a burning siege tower on their heads, and they surrendered." Karyl Vance said.

"We don't have siege towers here." Harwin said.

That was an obvious and unhelpful comment. Brienne looked around. In the great hall, there were many, many tables, a testament to the numbers and wealth of House Frey. And if there were tables, then -

"The benches." Brienne said. "We can use them as a battering ram." The tables sat ten men per side, and some of the oak benches were over twelve feet long, and light enough for two men to carry and run.

"A bench will not kill a knight." Harwin said.

"We do not need to kill them. If we drive them back, the soldiers will retreat up the stairs. And then we can reach the dungeon."

The rivermen formed teams of two to four. Ser Alyn ordered a quick volley of arrows and then Brienne and the others smashed into the shieldwall. The benches, as long as a knight's lance, forced the Freys back. The path down was left unguarded. They hurled the makeshift rams forward, and then ran down the steps.

* * *

The western dungeon had more guards, but they were poor fighters. Brienne slew two men easily before the resistance crumbled and surrendered. Marq Piper and Karyl Vance went first to their lord. A hempen noose dangled from Edmure's neck, and his feet and legs were filthy. The silver trout on the tunic was brown. The Greatjon roared when his cell was opened, and Wylis Manderly hugged Hornwood with fat, happy arms. There were others, as well - Lord Glover, Rickard Karstark, Robin Ryger, Cley Cerwyn, Ser Helman Tallhart, and Patrek Mallister.

The Greatjon and the other Northmen gathered over Dacey Mormont, shielding her body with theirs. Her clothes were torn and shredded. The breeches had been torn away and thrown carelessly through the prison bars. Her nose was broken and her right eye blackened. The right cheek was puffed and darkened and there were scratches on the arms, chest and thighs. The bruises told a clear story about the horrors of war.

"Lord Robb, how is he?" Dacey stood up, the dirty shift barely decent. She spoke through cracked, bloody lips.

"He is alive but hurt badly. Snow leads the attack on the castle." Brienne said. "My lady, can I offer you a cloak?"

Dacey shook her head as Clay Cerwyn handed over the breeches. She shook them out and put them on, covering the marks on her legs. "Get me a sword, or better yet, a morning star."

Lord Karstark swiped a sword from a cowering guard. He offered it to Dacey who caressed the hilt like a newborn child. Then she stepped forth and hacked off the dungeon warden's neck. The fleshy fat head rolled on the stone floor.

"Lady Dacey, he surrendered." Brienne said.

"Not to me." the she-bear replied.

"She is right. Kill the Freys! Where is Smalljon? Is he fighting with Snow?" the Greatjon asked.

"None of your men are here. Or yours, Lord Karstark. Or the Tullys. Or any of the riverlords. They could not join because the Freys held you hostage." Brienne said.

"Then… how did Snow take the castle?" Karstark said.

"The castle is not taken. Snow played a trick, but he has only a few hundred Stark men." Vance said. "We need to escape, but there is another matter."

Robert Paege dragged out a few more from the far side of the dungeon. Brienne was shocked to see Ser Stevron, old, tired, hobbling and supported by two young men. She recognized Olyvar, Robb's squire, but not the other, a boy of the same age. They looked like cousins, but everybody did at the Twins. Ser Perwyn followed, and his face was beaten and ashamed.

"Fucking Freys!" Karstark spat.

"No, Ser. These men tried to help us at the wedding. Stevron was wounded in the leg, defending me. And Perwyn fought Hosteen for killing Lucas Blackwood."' Robin Ryger said. The old knight's arm was swollen black and smelled foul.

"But his brother attacked us at Sevenstreams. I smashed a flagon of wine in his face to get free before I was knocked out by the back of an ax." Dacey said.

"That was Benfrey, not me." Perwyn said. "I swear I had no idea of my father's plans."

"They could all be liars. Lame Lothar is clever enough to put spies in the dungeon. How can we trust any Frey after what Lord Walder has done?" Wylis said.

"They may be scum but the Freys are Lord Edmure's bannermen. They answer to the Tullys." Marq Piper argued.

"The Freys betrayed the North. House Stark will decide their fate. If Robb Stark cannot, then Snow will." Dacey said. The Northmen clearly agreed. "Now, can we get out of this place?"

"We came down the staircase in the great hall. But Frey knights are defending that. We may have to fight our way through them." Brienne said.

"There is another way out, that would avoid any guards." Perwyn said.

"Past the armory? Arya Stark burned that one." Brienne said.

"No, my lady. There is an old storeroom with a concealed postern gate. The exit is below the bridge footings, and leads to the Trident, under the Crossing. It was built before the Water Tower, so that the Freys could attack any passing boats." Perwyn said.

"Lead the way. But if this is a trap, I will pull the guts out of your body while you are alive." The Greatjon said cheerfully.

* * *

The drawbridge was not the problem. Once lowered, that would be hard to raise again in any reasonable time frame. But the portcullis was an entirely different matter. The long tunnel had two portcullises, grated gates, plated with iron, mounted on vertical grooves that could be quickly raised or lowered. Attackers could be trapped between the two metal grilles, and easily killed. Defenders could drop stones and boiling water through murder holes in the ceiling or shoot arrows and bolts from the slits and loops on the sides.

The hoisting equipment - a winch, windlass and ropes - to raise and lower the gates would be located in the guardroom above the tunnel. And sometimes a guard could even smash a latch, and the portcullis would drop swiftly.

Taking the guard room was not the hard part. Enough soldiers had rushed to the great hall from the gatehouse that the enemy numbers had thinned out. But holding the guard room against attacks from Freys in the gatehouse, barbican, and flanking towers would be difficult for five men and a dire wolf.

"Jon!" Arya had found him, thanks to Balerion. All four - Arya, Thoros, Beric and Gendry - had soot on their face. "We burnt down the armory."

"I can tell." It was no use to tell Arya to keep safe. They were already near the guardroom. Safety came with action. "Ser Andrew Tollett. I want you to approach the guards. Tell them that the Northmen were defeated, and that Lothar Frey wishes them to come to the Great Hall."

"But my Lord, I look nothing like a Frey. The Tolletts of Grey Glen have no weasels or vultures as ancestors." Andrew said.

"Do you think we bloody look like Freys?" Sandor said. The Hound wore a drab cloak and an ugly leather skullcap. The cowl and cap hid his scars but not his height. Clegane towered a whole head over any Frey. Andrew was the shortest of the Vale knights.

"Perhaps you could be a knight from a sworn house." Beric said.

"And what are their sigils?" Tollett asked doubtfully.

"You can be a fucking Haigh. Black pitchforks. I stuck one up Donnel Haigh's arse in a melee." Clegane said.

"Perhaps I should accompany Ser Andrew as well. I will be a septon bringing good tidings." Thoros of Myr said.

The two entered the guardroom. Cheers could be heard through the thick oak door on hearing news of the victory. A few soldiers strolled through the door, only for the Hound and Jon to kill them from behind. Ghost and Balerion rushed the guardroom, followed by Lord Beric with a flaming sword, Ser Mychel and the other Vale knights. And when the Frey men attempted to raise the alarm or escape from the white dire wolf, Thoros and Andrew hacked at exposed necks and arms. In a few moments, the bloody work was done.

"That was not noble, Lord Snow." Thoros lamented.

"No, it was not. We are here for revenge, not to be celebrated in songs." Jon said.

They sealed the doors, blocking them as much as possible with tables and doors. A rope and pulley system on the far west side of the room linked a counterweight to the drawbridge. Ser Mychel and the Vale knights lowered the bridge. At the same time, the Hound and Gendry put their backs, legs and arms to work on the windlass, lifting first one gate and then the other. Jon located the latch, in the center of the guardroom.

He took out the auroch horn that Maege had given him last night. A long low blast rolled through the gatehouse, escaping the lowering drawbridge and echoing through the Western shoreline. Jon turned back, and blew it again, the noise sounded through the castle, striking fear and dismay in the defenders. And then one last blast came from the warhorn, deep, mournful, a dirge for a departed dire wolf, Grey Wind - who died fighting at his brother's side. We did not forget you, Jon thought.

"Hold the doors. So long as the bridge and gates are open, winter is coming for House Frey."

They heard the war horn on the western side of the camp, where Jason Mallister and the Silver Eagles broke their fast. And they heard the war horn on the southern edge, where Brynden Tully and his outriders rushed to saddle their horses and ride. Maege Mormont, the closest of the Stark commanders, already had her men armed and armored when the call came. But the quickest answer would come from the North.

* * *

Brienne followed Ser Perwyn as they exited the castle onto the river. Her sword was at the knight's back but the Frey men showed no signs of betrayal. They were eager to repent but she wondered whether it was too late. Her master at arms at Evenfall had told her the North was hard and cold, with no mercy. Judging from the eyes of the prisoners, Ser Goodwin was right. "What in the Seven Hells is that?" The Greatjon said.

Near the shore, the rafts were empty but at the Water Tower, the Winter Town Boys were hard at work. A long ramp, made with planks and buttressed by wooden blocks, stretched from the stone bridge to the rafts below. Ropes had been lashed on both the upper and lower portions of the ramp, bracing the inclined plane of wood against the stone pier of the Crossing. Brienne squinted, and saw that on the broken bridge, another ramp also stretched down to the river. In between, flat sheets of wood lay over the line of rafts, connecting the two structures.

"Bloody Hell. Jon Snow built another bridge." Wylis Manderly said.

Was that possible? In the morning, Brienne thought it was only a line of rafts butting against the Crossing, but that was before the Winter Town boys built the ramps and the little birds laid out the deck. The rafts were connected now with more than just ropes. Cross planks formed a smooth surface across the Green Fork.

A horn blew, long and low, the blast echoing over the river. A second burst rang out, followed by excited cries on the bridge.

"My mother's horn." Dacey said. "Who is blowing the Mormont horn?"

"Snow went to the gatehouse to raise the portcullis and lower the drawbridge. He must have succeeded. The gates are open." Brienne said.

The third blast reached their ears. And then a howl came from the North, a strange, terrifying sound - horrible and yet melodic. Dark shapes gathered on the broken bridge, their necks bent upward, as if howling at the moon. But there was no moon, Brienne thought. The sun shone brightly over the Green Fork.

A monstrous she-wolf with a white belly and dark gold eyes jumped from a wooden pier and landed on a raft. The floating bridge was a fragile thing. A horse would have to be led carefully over the deck. And men in armor would need to walk slowly to keep the ties between the rafts stable. But wolves were lighter than horses and more balanced than men. Nymeria ran over the pontoon rafts, her legs a white blur, until she sprang up the ramp onto the bridge. Her cousins followed, hundreds and hundreds of grey wolves. The dire wolf howled again at the Water Tower, and then raced west into the castle. Her little cousins followed, snarling and gnashing their teeth, ready to hunt and kill. The frenzied wolf pack passed the Stark soldiers without breaking stride. Screams broke out in the castle. Brienne almost felt sorry for the Freys.

* * *

Only two doors led to the guardroom, and the Freys were too stupid or too afraid to go through the window. The gatehouse had three floors. A bold man could climb down a rope to attack. Such a trick would not have succeeded, but the frantic attempts to breach the guardroom were failing. Against normal swordsmen, the sheer numbers of soldiers would have prevailed. But the Hound and Ser Mychel Redfort were far from normal. Clegane fought with a brutal savagery that most could not match. What the Hound did with raw strength, Ser Mychel achieved with speed and skill. Robar, Ben, Thoros and Gendry were wounded by arrows but Andrew and Lord Beric still fought. And Ghost, Jon and Arya killed any men who managed to get past.

A bugle sounded behind them. Whether it was a Tully trumpet or a Piper horn, Jon did not care. The Stark bannermen were coming. From the corner of his eye, he saw a silver eagle on purple and a black trout on blue and red. The closest blazon was the black she-bear walking in a green wood. The Mormonts reached the drawbridge. Lady Maege sent five rows of three steel clad soldiers abreast, with shields at the right and left sides to block arrows and more shields defending the front, back and top of the tortoise formation. A lusty roar broke out when the men reached the end of the tunnel unscathed. And then, a horde of angry Northmen and riverlanders burst into the castle.

"Snow." A knight with a sigil of a black toad or frog on a white lily cried out in panic. "Snow, will you accept our surrender?"

"That depends, ser. Were you at Edmure Tully's wedding? Did you attack my brother's men at Sevenstreams?" Jon shot back.

The old knight looked like he would piss himself. He ran, only to fall to Nymeria's jaws as the dire wolf ripped out his throat. The Hound and the knights watched as the other Frey soldiers fell to the she wolf's pack.

* * *

They walked down the steps of the gatehouse to the keep, the Hound and Ser Mychel guarding Jon. Truthfully he didn't need them with Ghost and Balerion at his side. Nymeria accompanied Arya, and dozens and dozens of wolves cavorted around the courtyard. In the inner bailey, joyful reunions broke out between ex prisoners and their families. The Manderly brothers hugged, giant bellies jiggling as they slapped each other on the back. Jon saw a sheepish Edmure speaking quietly to the Blackfish, Tytos and his sons, Hoster and Brynden, embracing Little Ben, happy Vances and Pipers, and Maege and Lyra Mormont holding Dacey close. Like always, the bellows of the Karstarks and Umbers threatened to drown out the other bannermen.

Ser Alyn and Chett approached, unconcerned about the wolves surrounding Jon and Arya.

"Report, Ser." Jon said.

"We have done it, Lord Snow. We have broken them. A few Freys have barricaded themselves on the upper levels of the keep, but our men only need rams to batter down the doors."

"Tell the Freys that I demand their surrender. If they do not open the doors, the deaths will be more painful. And what about the prisoners?"

"Maester, Lady Brienne freed the prisoners. We saw the ones from the eastern castle on the bridge. And Clydas and Denys saw the others on the western river bank." Chett chirped.

"You did well building the pontoon bridge, Chett. The Winter Town boys performed admirably. And make sure to thank the little birds too." Jon said. The boy beamed with pride.

A crowd of bannermen had gathered around Jon and Arya. The Blackfish, the Greatjon and Lady Mormont pushed themselves to the front. "My Lord, what are your orders?" Alyn said

"I want every Frey brought to me - living or dead. Find them all - Lord Walder, his sons, their children and children's children." Jon said.

"Lord Snow, we have not taken the eastern castle. Some of the Freys and their men may have escaped." Alyn said.

"First, clear every part of this castle. Then take the eastern castle with no loss of Northern lives. Chett, find ravens, either in the rookery here or back at the camps. Send ravens and riders to all the nearby holdfasts, village and inns. Anyone who shelters Frey men will suffer the same fate." Jon stopped and thought. "Bring all of the prisoners to me. Kevan Lannister. Baelor Hightower. Tarly. Every squire and lady from the Tooth. Every captured knight and lord. Let them see the fate of traitors. And send our most trusted men to escort Sansa and Robb here." Jon said.

"It may take time, Lord Snow. Lord Walder has a very large family."

"Then Robb will be here to see justice done." Jon replied.

* * *

The Great Hall was already full of snot-nosed Freys praying to the Seven for mercy. A few minor prisoners had been delivered - Lord Crakehall and the Strongboar, Brax knights, Lord Estren, Prester men. The throne of black oak with the Frey sigil carved on the back, reserved for the Lord of the Crossing, was empty. Jon had spent the hour writing ravens, and speaking with the chastened lords. Among the bannermen, only the Mormonts could hold their heads high.

Some of the pack had departed for the forests and hills but others remained, devouring horses in the stable. The wolfhounds in the kennels were all dead. Nymeria, Balerion and Ghost sat near Jon, and ravens fluttered about, waiting to take letters South and East.

They dragged Lord Walder, his bald chinless head wearing a look of stunned disbelief. Ryman and his sons were brought in kicking and screaming, and a few others were bound in ropes with their wives, sons and daughters. There were lots and lots of Freys. Jon did not recognize many but the plump man with dark ringlets of hair dressed in woman's garb was Lame Lothar.

"We found him trying to escape as a serving wench. He was hiding with the maids in a storeroom." Lord Beric said.

Nymeria leaped forward, snarling, traces of blood still visible on her face. Jon raised a hand, and Ghost veered in front of his sister. The two dire wolves trotted back to their bondmates.

"A warg walks among us, A WARG! Snow will steal our children and mate with our women. He is an abomination before the Seven. " Lothar frothed at the mouth.

"Perhaps I am a warg and a sorcerer. But you are a dead man. Your line is dead. Your house is dead. And soon enough, you will be dead." He spoke to the Stark guards. "Take Walder, and chain him to the black chair he loves so. Make certain he has a good view."

The old man babbled and screeched as Alebelly and Fat Tom grabbed and carried him. Chett and Gerry tied ropes firmly about the wrists, arms and neck.

It was still morning on the Green Fork. Jon looked about the great hall, full of terrified prisoners. More were coming. "When the sun sets, your line shall end."

**Author's Notes**

Big Walder is one of the two wards sent to Winterfell. There is an inside joke on how Big Walder is actually shorter and smaller than Little Walder. The theory that Big Walder killed Little Walder is intriguing because he is only nine years old. But Big Walder, son of Jammos, is quite astute.

The wolf pelt refers to the Frey letter to Tywin Lannister. "Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding."

The trick of the missing cookfires comes from the Battle of Guiling in 354 BC. (Warring States Period in China). The battle was between Sun Bin and Pang Juan. Sun Bin had his troops use 100,000 cooking stoves the first day, 50,000 the second day, and 20,000 the third. Pang Juan believed Sun Bin's forces were deserting and rushed into an ambush. In the folklore version, Sun Bin carves the words "Pang Juan dies under this tree" on a tree and kills him there with archers. No way to fit that into this story though.

Edwyn's contribution about night soil comes from the war council at Riverrun in A Feast for Crows. While some prefer to negotiate (Riverlords), and others to launch a raid (Strongboar), Edwyn says the archers should poison their arrows with night soil (human shit) and aim for the Blackfish's helm. To which, Karyl Vance asks whether the night soil will be Edwyn's own contribution, or his actual shit.

All warfare is deception. That comes from Sun Tzu's **Art of War**. Incidentally, Sun Bin claimed to be a descendant of Sun Tzu, and wrote his own book on tactics.

Jon uses a pulley and windlass system to move heavy things - like Sandor Clegane. A windlass is a vertical capstan and both were used on ships to multiply force when pulling cords, ropes and sails. Archimedes (200 BC) is credited as inventing the windlass although it seems clear the Chinese also had their own version. The windlass is basically a complex pulley.

Addam Marbrand has a similar idea to take the walls of Riverrun. He would have led a dozen men in boats and scaled the walls with ropes and grapnels. This plan is rejected by Walder Rivers, but the difference here is that there is a huge distraction, and the watchers are faced out toward the walls, not inward at the castle.

A wine barrel, depending on the exact origin, holds about 32 gallons. A firkin is a quarter of the size. I would guess that a full barrel weighs about 300 pounds. A half barrel of beer (15.5 gallons) weighs 30 pounds empty and 160 full. As for Arya's cord, the first fuses were used by the Chinese in the 10th century to delay ignition in fireworks.

"The North was hard and cold, and without mercy." Eddard Stark says that to Catelyn. I thought that was early, when they beheaded the deserter, but it turns out to be when Robb executed Lord Karstark for killing the Lannister boys.

Jon Snow built a pontoon bridge - not to cross a river, but to link the two bridges. Pontoon bridges have been around since ancient times. Xerxes famously built one across the Hellespont, the strait that marks the border between Asia and Europe. Historians estimate that Xerxes transported several hundred thousand men and all their baggage over a mile of water. The Chinese and the Romans also used pontoon bridges.

Jon also used the empty wine and ale barrels left at the feast to make pontoon boats. In the DIY videos, you literally strap PVC barrels to a hardwood frame, and that's it. Technically, you also need to screw the barrels in place, get a sturdy board for the top of the frame, and leave a space for the engine. But that is a fancy video. Jon's barrel rafts are even simpler, although he has to devise a place for the ropes so the rafts could be tied together. The physics of pontoon bridges are odd. When men march in unison, the walkway would heave up and down, and pressure would build. But a heavier vehicle that distributes weight evenly causes very little stress! So a man or a horse had to cross carefully. But a tank could roll over without problems. The science is that each pontoon has to sink to gain buoyancy and recover when the load is passed. Nymeria is awesome, so she can lead a huge pack over at top speed.

In a **Feast of Crows**, Jamie hears about a wolf attack "hundreds of the bloody beggars" with no fear, led by a monstrous she-wolf. This is Nymeria's pack.

"A warg walks among us" is stolen from Janos Slynt when he is politicking to be Lord Commander. I am not sure why that line didn't matter in the book. The Jon chapters swing from "I may be executed for living with Wildlings" to Jon Snow, Lord Commander. That's a credit to the untrustworthy POV and GRRM's skill at selling Jon as a destined hero - well at least before the last two seasons. I don't see why the Night's Watch would want a warg commander unless they accept that Jon Snow is the promised one.

"When the sun sets, your line shall end" is what Aegon the Conqueror says to Black Harren before Balerion burns the castle. And the actions of Nymeria - growling and snapping - mirrors Grey Wind's behavior at the Twins in the books.


End file.
